


The Proof is in the Pudding

by nischi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bake Off AU, F/F, Food Porn, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not really sure what else to tag here but there's probably more, M/M, Multi, Price and Zeller are Mel and Sue, Strongly recommend reading this with cake at hand, TGBB AU, Threesome, Will and Alana are Paul and Mary, baking au, gbbo au, not as dark as most other hannibal fics but its still a little creepy au, not literally but maybe i can write that later, that's the american version right, the cake is people too, the dessert is people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nischi/pseuds/nischi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm very supportive of bake offs."</p><p>GBBO AU because you can never have enough bake off in your life</p><p>AU I guess inspired by this post: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/127589685633/</p><p>Completed!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week 1: Biscuits

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last year after bake off finished and its taking me a while to finish it bc i get hungry every time i open the document but im trying super hard 
> 
> so I've been struggling with the dilemma over whether to change it to the Great BALTIMORE Bake Off or not but instead I've decided this takes place in an alternate universe where GBBO is just a name and not bc it takes place in Britain. I mean if you want to imagine everybody with British accents then I won't stop you. Anthony is still v British 
> 
> supremely un-beta'd because I'm about to start my honours project lmao might edit later on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realised in hindsight that just in case anybody is reading this without GBBO knowledge, that I should maybe give a quick run-through of the "plot"
> 
> Each week, bakers compete in three challenges; signature bakes (chosen bake by producers, bakers can prepare and practise in advance), technical challenge (baker have literally no idea what will happen, and the instructions given are often vague: i.e. "step 1, bake cake; step 2, decorate") and lastly the showstopper (make the biggest best cake ever pls)
> 
> The prize at the end is like a bouquet and a lil trophy and the love of the nation as everybodys families and friends sit in a field for a day as the bakers cook for like 6h 
> 
> Any questions? No? Then on your marks... Get set....

“I already told you, no comment.” Will waved the reporter away walking faster to create a distance between them. “When the show airs, THEN you can report it. I’m not going to give you an advanced scoop on who leaves the tent.”

“I’m not asking the _moon_ , Will, just a heads up would be great – I could be the first to break the story.” The curly redhead sped up and blocked Will’s path. “Come on, can’t you tell me anything at all?”

“I don’t care who reports it first.” Will grunted. “You realise we’re in a baking tent, right? It’s not smart to piss off the guy who knows where the knives are kept.”

*****

“Wait, Freddy Lounds snuck in here _again_?” Alana was sipping her tea, looking mildly unperturbed.

“Security showed up after I threatened her with a knife,” Will snorted, reaching for the coffee grounds. He was leaning against the small worktop that had been built in the back of the tent for the cameramen and the presenters when they weren’t filming. It only really supported a handful of mugs and a kettle, but that was all they needed – they didn’t really need to buy cake…

“Will, you really shouldn’t have done that,” the woman said, looking at him over the rim of her mug, though Will could still see the amused twinkle in her eyes. He knew it was a stupid thing to do, but Freddy just couldn’t leave well alone. “She’ll be back, won’t she?”

“It’s dumb. It’s not like there’s anywhere to hide – we film in the middle of an empty field, for Gods’ sake.” Will threw his hand towards a window in the side of the tent, “Unless she decides to opt for the whole ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ malarkey – and dress up as an _actual_ sheep – she won’t get jackshit from us.”

Alana giggled into her mug. It was a welcoming sound. Will really appreciated the woman; her soft palette and stylish dresses contrasted physically with his own harsh appearance, but their partnership worked well. This was their seventh season working together; the critics liked the chemistry. Some of them liked it a little _too_ much – Lounds had insinuated on several occasions that there was more going on than met the eye, but Will wasn’t stupid enough to ruin a good thing. Maybe, once the show has finished its run…

The kettle boiled over and the element popped, prompting the man to fill his cup. The smell of the roasted beans spilled out of the cup, and he sighed. That was a thought for another time.

He lifted his mug towards Alana, who stood up and smoothed down her navy pencil skirt. “Here’s to this season, may the bakes be good and the scandals be few.”

*****

Will leaned against one of the countertops in the middle of the tent. The crew were buzzing around him, taping up the loose wires at the sides of the show floor, hiding away all the equipment that had been left littered around. One woman was turning on all the ovens, standing for a few minutes with her hands outstretched, hovering over the door, and then turning them off again. Final checks. He could hear the food mixers being tested, too; the rotors whirring and being powered down. Another year, another group of bakers.

As he stood, deep in thought with his coffee in hand, Will looked out the windows to the gaggle of people being walked towards the tent. A runner was waving his hands erratically at the front of the group, pointing out this and that – the entrance to the tent, the crew areas, the hidden wiring and electricity cables. Will stared at the group, who now entered the tent. Each person was directed to the bench that they would shortly be stationed at.

Will moved away, backing into the shadows of the camera area. He found Zeller and Price, arguing over the teabags. “Anybody interesting standing out yet?” He asked them, sipping his coffee. The two men immediately froze, surprised by the interruption.

“W-Will! Hey, there, I didn’t see you…” Brian rubbed his bearded chin, awkwardly.

“Oh, shush, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jimmy Price laughed. “Brian was just telling me about his date last night.” He poked the other man in the arm.

“No, I was _telling_ you to leave it alone, alright?” Brian huffed, scalding himself on the hot tea as he tried to hide his embarrassment. “Nobody looks like they stand out much yet, but have you seen the guy in the scarf?”

Jimmy nodded, “Yep, he’s _bound_ to be a favourite, the man practically oozes ‘charming’.”

“We’re just about to get the shots of them all walking into the tent, so we’ll be ready to start soon. Better go get yourself ready, Graham.”

Will reached under his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The first episode always hit him hardest, he barely slept last night. The anxiety of fame wasn’t anything new, but it took its toll. He felt a small tremor in his hand, so he placed his mug carefully in the sink – dropping a mug right before he started filming probably wouldn’t be a great omen.

*****

“It’s the moment every cake, bread and pie lover has been waiting for.”

“The tent is up, the sun is shining, and ten of Britain’s finest amateur bakers are ready to do battle.”

“Welcome, to the Great British Bake Off.”

“We’ve had thousands of entries, and each year the bakers get better. This year, ten of Britain’s top home bakers have made it to the Bake Off tent.”

“They’ve been practising for months, and the battle for Bake Off survival will be tough.”

“This year, as always, the bakers will be judged by two people top in their field; legendary cookery writer and editor, Alana Bloom.”

“And her partner in crime, master baker himself, Will Graham.”

“Those who fall short will have to leave the tent. And only one can be crowned – the winner of the Great British Bake Off.”

*****

“Alright, that’s great, we can splice in the footage from the bakers later. Time to get started, people!”

Will saw the bakers filtering into the tent. He sized them up from his place hidden away in the back. They were all too nervous to turn around and see him; all eyes focussed on the bench they would soon be occupying for the foreseeable future.

The judge was surprised to see how many men there were this year; they outweighed the women 6 to 4. There was a pale, petite girl in her early 20s; a tough-looking Asian woman behind her; a steely-eyed blonde and a rather bored-looking woman with dark lipstick to their left. The young girl looked like her nerves were totally shot, worrying the sleeves on her knitted maroon pullover. The woman with the dark lipstick eyed everyone with a look of disdain.

A tall, stocky black man with a soul patch stood at the front bench, and a short man with a beard and bug-eyes beside him. A tall, lanky man stood in the middle of the tent with his head permanently cocked to one side, grinning hard; the man with the scarf Price and Zeller had pointed out before followed shortly behind him. Another man with cropped dark hair and a small scar on his upper lip walked to the back of the tent, followed finally by slightly older man with sandy blond hair and a tight-fitting button-up.

Each of the bakers put their aprons around their necks, tying them securely behind their backs. The cameras backed away.

Will inhaled deeply, and took a step towards the front of the tent.

*****

“Week one in the Bake Off tent. The bakers are ready to get cracking, the ovens are ready.”

Price and Zeller walked to the front of the show floor, followed by Will and Alana. Will could practically _feel_ the pounding of hearts, the sweat on brows. The tension was so thick, he could probably cut through it with a knife. He laughed to himself at the thought, his lips twitching in a small smile.

“Good morning, bakers!” Zeller yelled. “Now, week one, Will and Alana wanted to start you off with something easy.”

Price continued, “It’s time to show us what you’ve got. For our first signature bake, we want you to make twelve identical biscuits.”

“They can be any flavour, shape, size – but they _have_ to be identical. So, bakers, try not to crumble under the pressure, you have two hours. On your marks,” Zeller clasped his hands together.

“Get set.”

“Bake!!”

*****

Alana mingled between each of the contestants, murmuring a few soothing words to them. Noticing tears brimming, she ran across to the youngest baker to give her a warm smile and a reassuring hug. Will admired her for caring; the best he could ever manage was an awkward smile and an admonishing glare.

Will followed Zeller to the man with the soul patch. He was introduced as “Jack, a police detective,” and seemed to want to say no more than that. Will didn’t try very hard to pry further.

“So, what are you baking for us today, Jack?” Will asked. He eyed up the lack of ingredients on the bench, noticing there were only the absolute minimum.

“I believe that simple is better, so I’m making farthing biscuits.”

Zeller glanced at Will and they shared a confused look. It wasn’t exactly an exciting start. “Oh. Well, I suppose a tried and tested recipe is a good thing,” Brian said.

“The thing with simple, though, is that if it goes wrong it’s disastrous. If a single one of those biscuits are overbaked, you can tell immediately.” Will looked at the policeman, hoping to inspire some sort of imagination in him. The man grunted, busying his hands weighing out his ingredients. Graham was wondering about the people who had gone through the selection process – somebody in production must have thought this man would be good on television and he really couldn’t fathom why.

The judge shifted awkwardly on his feet, and, realising he would get no more from the man moved on to the next baker. The young girl, Abigail, was furiously whisking a bowl of butter and icing sugar. She had managed to splash the sugar all over herself, and her nerves looked absolutely destroyed. She was already covered in plasters, having nicked herself during practise bakes at home.

“Abigail is only 19, one of our youngest contestants ever.” Zeller told him. Will watched the girl, anxiety flaring up – the whisk was on too high a setting and the bowl was shaking. He reached out to stabilise it for her.

“Be careful when you mix things; you want to keep most of the mix _in_ the bowl,” Will said. “What are you baking?”

The girl blushed, scratching at her neck. “Strawberry and custard creams. They were my mum’s favourites when I was younger.” Her voice trailed off to a small whisper. “I’m making a custard and strawberry jam filling to sandwich the biscuits together.”

“Make sure not to overheat your jam mixture; the second the tiny air bubbles disappear you need to stop heating it. You don’t want it to get too thick.” Will offered her some advice, feeling sorry for the girl. She had a look of terrified determination. Graham wished they hadn’t lowered the age limit on the show – 19 was too young to be dealing with the pressures of competitive baking. She should be focussing on college applications and teenage problems, not making custard competitively.

Will finished making his rounds, teaming up with Alana and grilling some of the more cocky-looking bakers. The man with the lip scar, Francis, struggled to articulate anything further than the ingredients in his bake; chocolate and ginger oat biscuits. The spunky Asian woman, Beverly, was baking a lemon and lavender shortbread, while the grumpy, stout-looking Frederick attempted some ginger and honey cookies.

Alana had already seen to Matthew, a nurse, who had opted to make some coconut macaroons, and Margot, the sour-faced lady with her hair neatly swept to the side in a French braid. She was also making some sort of shortbread.

Graham surveyed the tent, breathing in the smells and sounds of the bakers at work. Two more contestants to visit and then he could leave for a little breather while Brian and Jimmy continued to dog the contestants for the rest of their bakes.

He stepped up to the next bench, the one with the ‘charming’ man. Will hadn’t really had a close look at him but now, up close and personal, his smile was blinding. He felt extremely uncomfortable, the man’s happiness seeped into Will’s pores. His eyes crinkled when he smiled – which was often – and spoke with a delicate tone.

“Anthony, what have you got for me today?” Will asked, a tad more forcefully than he was aiming for.

The scarfed man stopped rolling his dough, replying, “I am going for the trite British stereotype, I’m afraid. We love our tea, and we love our biscuits, so I decided to combine the two and make tea-flavoured biscuits.” He gestured to the boxes of teabags at the side of his workspace. “Everybody loves a good teabag,” he laughed.

Will’s cheeks darkened in a crisp blush. Thank God the footage didn’t go out live because he wasn’t exactly sure how many innuendos they would be allowed to get away with this year. The media had dragged Zeller and Price through the mud after the whole “soggy ladyfingers” debacle of 2013.

Will stammered, “Uhm. Yeah. So, uhh, what kind of tea are you using?” Trying to move the conversation on.

“One of my favourites, lapsang souchong, actually. I can hardly function without it!” He laughed again. Will felt himself laughing, too. Anthony seemed like a really pleasant guy – his eyes twinkled as he laughed. It had been a long time since Will had last met somebody like that.

“Good luck, Anthony, I’m really looking forward to those.” Will turned to walk away.

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Will.” He had heard the baker reply.

In a good mood, Will found Jimmy Price again, and was finally guided to the last baker. This would be his last interview before he retired to the back of the tent. The blond man in the buttoned up shirt, who had since rolled up his sleeves and was baring his taut forearms, was chopping up some cranberries and almonds. The way he wielded the knife was mesmeric, and Will found himself standing admiring the man’s technique.

Jimmy cleared his throat, nudging the judge with his elbow. Hannibal looked up, his immaculate hair now falling in fine strands across his forehead. “Hannibal here is a doctor, and likes to bake in his spare time.” Jimmy had been fed information about all the contestants well in advance. “A modern day man,” he added.

“Not a practising doctor, however. Merely a psychiatrist.” Hannibal added modestly.

“Mental diseases are just as valid as physical, doctor.” Will replied, realising all too late that he really should’ve called him by his given name. Hannibal smirked.

“Today for you I am making some florentines, with cranberries, almonds and walnuts.”

“That’s awfully ambitious for week one. Are you sure that was a wise idea?” Will was quite surprised. He was expecting everybody to be making the most basic of biscuits, not something so delicate. “Are you feeling that confident?”

“This is a recipe my aunt taught me to bake when I was growing up, it’s something I’ve made many times.”

“I’ll leave you be, it can be a very tricky bake. The key is to get them perfectly chewy – overbake them and they’re hard, underbake them and they’re sticky. Wouldn’t want to accidentally trip you up in your first week.” Nudging his glasses back up his nose, Will took a step back from the bench. In a swift, fluid motion, Hannibal pushed away the stray hairs from his forehead and grinned.

“I’ll try not to make them too hard.”

*****

The bakers bustled around the tent, as Jimmy stood at the front declaring they only had ten minutes left on the clock. “Snap, snap, like a biscuit, guys. Ten minutes.” He bellowed.

There had been a few mishaps earlier on, all of which Will had watched quietly from behind the scenes. One or two ovens had been set too high, a couple of pans had boiled over, and somebody had dropped an egg. Jack had finished his simple biscuits well ahead of all the other bakers, Chilton had added far too much honey – Will could tell even from the distance he was at – and Margot had overbeaten her shortbread mixture and had had to start again. Abigail seemed to be flapping her arms and pacing, but Graham couldn’t tell if that was because things were _actually_ going wrong or if she was still just really nervous.

Alana walked up to Will as he was finishing off his coffee. She lay a hand on his shoulder, took his empty cup, and placed it behind her on the counter. “Ready to judge some biscuits?”

He shook his head faintly. The coffee had dulled his headache, but it hadn’t left completely. He groaned as he stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of his plaid shirt. Stretching his back, Will looked over at the bakers who were now all moving their bakes to the end of their benches.

Brian and Jimmy led the judges to the front of the tent. Somebody had laid out a small white table complete with cutlery and side plates, ready for the bakes to be assessed. One by one, the bakers brought their biscuits to the judges.

Bedelia’s orange and white chocolate _langues de chat_ were almost perfect, albeit slightly burnt around the edges. “You have 12 perfectly equal biscuits, there, it’s just a shame a few of them are singed. Good effort.” Will said. Beverly’s shortbread was slightly oversweetened with too much sugar on top, and Margot’s almond shortbread was underflavoured.

Alana couldn’t decide whether or not Chilton had added any ginger to his ginger and honey cookies, because all she could taste was honey. The balance Francis had in his ginger and chocolate oat biscuits was perfect.

When Abigail produced her strawberry and custard creams to the judges, Will’s heart sank a little. They were totally overbaked, and he saw in her eyes that she knew it, too. “These are disappointing, Abigail. How long did you leave them in the oven for?”

“15 minutes.”

“Yeah, that was too long. Normally they take 15 minutes but you piped them really thin and so they totally overcooked.” Alana lifted one up and tapped it on the plate. “It’s really dense.”

“The custard cream and strawberry jam filling work so well together, you got the sweetness of the jam perfect but the actual bake really let you down.”

Jack was up next, with his farthing biscuits. They were all uniformly round and each one was baked to perfection. It riled Will a little, after seeing how much effort Abigail had made to try and bake something impressive while this man presented something so simple. However, he couldn’t fault the man – there were 12 identical biscuits, just as they had asked for. Anthony brought his tea biscuits forward, one or two had baked in a slightly funny shape but on the whole they looked good and tasted good. Much like their baker, Will thought to himself. He shook the thought out of his head, blood rising to his face.

Seriously. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t.

Hannibal’s florentines were beautiful. There was just enough chocolate coating one side of the biscuit, and they were perfectly chewy. “I’m impressed. I didn’t actually think you would finish in time.”

“Thank you very much, I practised hard.” He smiled at Will. Jimmy and Brian leaned over and each grabbed another florentine, shoving them into their mouths.

Lastly, Matthew brought his coconut macaroons to the table, beautifully rounded and half-dipped in chocolate. Alana was especially appreciative of them – she loved coconut – but Will wasn’t so keen.

All in all, it had been a reasonably successful first bake. The bakers left the tent to get some fresh air and have a short break before the technical round started. Will and Alana went outside as well, and mingled with the contestants. Some of them looked relieved, a few slightly more worried. Alana tried to reassure them all, tell them to have fun, but Will stayed at the periphery of the group.

Matt stood close to him, tilting his head and watching Will. The judge could feel it in his side view, but chose not to say anything. The kid was probably just overwhelmed – most people told Will he seemed shorter in person. Graham was pretty sure it was his blunt personality; it knocked a few centimetres off.

Beverly seemed to be hitting it off with Brian and Jimmy, and Abigail was lurking close behind Hannibal. Bedelia and Margot gathered around Alana, the three of them smiling and laughing quietly. Jack had wandered off to phone his wife.

“Being social not really your thing?” Anthony Dimmond strolled up to Will. “You look like this isn’t where you want to be.” Will looked away, avoiding his blinding grin. “Would you like to get out of here and have a drink?”

Will turned his head quickly, squinting, “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“Yes. But it got your attention.”

Will smiled. “You realise you still have another bake this afternoon, right?” He rubbed his cheek, trying to cover up his grin.

“After, then. We could go find a nice bottle of scotch.”

Anthony walked away before Will could respond, running off to introduce himself to Bedelia. Matthew had also sauntered off a little, and was now chatting to Chilton. Scanning across the group, the only face that was looking his way seemed to be Hannibal’s. Will nodded at him in acknowledgement. Hannibal winked.

*****

“After a gentle warm up to get them into the swing of things, this afternoon the bakers are going to have to get stuck into a double-baked technical. Will, Alana, if you wouldn’t mind leaving the tent for this one. Today, bakers, we would like you to make biscotti.”

“But not just _any_ biscotti – no, we want it to have a nice even spread of cranberries and white chocolate, baked to perfection. Twice. This technical will challenge your judgement and precision. We want you to make 10 and we want them to be identical. On your marks, get set, bake!”

*****

Will and Alana made their way to the small kiosk that had been set up elsewhere in the field. They sat down to discuss the pitfalls of making a biscotti, what the bakers needed to be careful of and how to best go about it. There were a couple of takes before Will and Alana could relax again, and they stayed in the kiosk for an hour, catching up on each other’s lives. The last season they filmed almost a year ago, and both judges had been keeping themselves busy since then – there wasn’t much time to keep in touch.

*****

The judges meandered back to the tent, soft bleating sound of lambs in the distance. The judging after a technical was always a struggle. Not knowing who baked what was a difficult thing to judge, and Will didn't fancy being too harsh on Abigail. Which meant that he would need to balance it out and be kind to everybody.

Will Graham did not enjoy being kind to everybody.

"Alright, so, let's start at this end, shall we, Alana?"

They wandered down the line, taking in turn each snapping a biscotti and hoping for a good crunch. One was over-saturated with cranberries, another absolutely drenched in white chocolate. There were one or two that had clearly run out of time and the chocolate was dashed on haphazardly.

"This one is... interesting." Will said, picking up a slightly charred biscuit. It had been well-hidden in a pile of otherwise fine biscuits. "Think perhaps it was cooked too close to the grill."

Alana and Will turned away to decide on the best bake. Graham felt a chill run up his spine - looking briefly over his shoulder he noticed Francis glaring at him. It was unsettling. Scanning back over the crowd he was greeted with a few nervous smiles; Abigail chewing her lip, Hannibal morose, Jack looking surprisingly bored.

Brian tapped Alana on the shoulder. "Are you decided?" She nodded.

"Some of these biscotti were actually pretty good. I'm not sure how many of you have tried to make them before, but we thought it would be a straightforward technical to get you all started. Sadly, in last place, is this one."

Frederick reluctantly raised his hand.

"It was too heavy with cranberries, and they weren't chopped finely enough. Also, this poor burnt one that you tried to cover up sadly did not stay as hidden as you may have been hoping..."

In 9th place came Abigail, Bedelia was 8th, and Jack 7th.

Margot's were lacking in chocolate, but the biscuit was acceptable. Anthony, Hannibal and Francis were closely tied in skill, taking up 3rd to 5th place.

"Second place, is this one," Will pointed to the plate. "Bev, I'm impressed. You managed to get a really great cranberry distribution all the way throughout the biscuit, and there's a really great coating of chocolate on the top." She nodded her thanks, beaming.

"And finally, first place," Alana smiled at the nurse, "Matthew, congratulations."

The other bakers applauded, Matt ducking his head to one side. He blushed slightly, embarrassed by all the fuss around him.

"Our first technical bake winner. Your biscuit was flawless and honestly, I would gladly eat another. Well done."

*****

There was a rustling coming from outside Will’s window. The trees were battering the side of the house, but it didn’t feel like a regular storm. Swinging his legs out the bed, Will put on his slippers and walked through the kitchen towards the back door. He reached the door on the porch, catching his breath. The man hadn’t noticed his heavy breathing, and the night shirt he wore was drenched in sweat. The air felt clammy and electric.

Graham couldn’t remember the forecast for the weekend but he was sure it wasn’t supposed to rain. The droplets heaved down on him, soaking his shirt further. His house was silent – none of his dogs had heard him move. That was odd.

A branch creaked loudly, catching Will’s attention. There was a hulking shadow approaching the decking slowly, quietly. The storm raged heavier, blinding the baker’s view. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the rain, starting to shiver from the pelting, and the beast approached him.

A black stag, eyes glistening under the sudden flashes of lightening, hot breath brushing over his face. Will reached out to touch it –

Blinding sun and barking dogs shook him to his senses. He was standing on the porch in his shabby pyjamas, panting heavily with his arm outstretched. The sun shone bright in his eyes, his hand grasping out into thin air.

There was no evidence of any stag, black or otherwise.

Will stumbled back into the kitchen, reaching for some aspirin and trying to avoid stepping on any dogs. He filled their bowls and looked at his phone – it was 5am, and he would need to get ready to leave for work soon.

*****

Will drove up to the tent earlier than he had intended. His nightmare had left him shaken and drowsy, but sadly still alarmingly awake and after taking his dogs for a run he had left for his commute to the countryside.

The producers always offered him a car service but Will preferred to take his own – nobody could prevent him from leaving when he wanted to at the end of the day.

He wasn’t the first on set but it was still quiet, the camera crew and presenters were setting up but none of the bakers had surfaced yet. Brian and Jimmy were sitting comatose next to the coffee pot, glancing over what Graham assumed were pre-approved script notes that the two men were _supposed_ to use for the show. It was impressive how often those scripts seemed to go amiss, suspiciously found in a bin off to the side of the tent. 

The judge strolled over to the two men and poured himself a coffee, sitting in companionable silence as the rest of the crew gradually arrived.

Cameras and bakers in place, Price stepped forward to greet the day and explain the task. “I hope you all have enough energy to tackle this challenge, because we’re about to get constructive.”

Brian continued, “Alana and Will want you to create a picturesque biscuit scene. Since today is showstopper day they want it to be freestanding, but you can choose your glue – so long as it’s edible.”

“You have 2 hours on the clock, so on your marks, get set. GO.”

The bakers set about their task, measuring out ingredients with determination and haste. Will and Alana circled the tent like vultures, raising their questioning eyebrows every now and again to stir up trouble. Jimmy and Brian also did their rounds, offering “helping” hands whilst trying not to cause any major damages.

The minutes ticked by and the bakers frantically stuck biscuit to biscuit, a few mild collapses here and there as Brian called the “five more minutes” mark. Will and Alana took their places at the front of the tent, watching the chaos unfold. Sometimes critics asked Will if they ever had to turn up the heat and make the contestants sweat – he always laughed. It wasn’t like they really needed any more pressure on their shoulders; most of the contestants were their own worst critics, and those who applied for a laugh usually felt the pressure the minute they stepped into the tent. It was like crossing a threshold.

“Put down your sticky biscuits and step away from your scaffolding.” The clatter of spatulas and teaspoons dropping to the desks could be heard around the room. Alana smiled. “First up, Chilton – present us your package.”

Frederick brought his biscuit box to the judges’ table. He placed it down gently, the walls shaking a little.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to make something so cute!” Alana exclaimed. “The structure looks a little shaky but the task was to build a 3D structure and it is technically free-standing, so good job.” She plucked the lid of the box off and placed it gently on the plate. Will leaned in and grabbed one of the little cookies from inside, testing its snap.

“The orange and cinnamon blend are really nice, Chilton.” Will broke one of the walls in half, and it shattered with a beautifully crisp ‘snap’. “You have a great bake all the way through, I’m impressed.”

Jack presented a log cabin made of gingerbread, complete with picket fence. He had used a sweet caramel glaze to stick the pieces together. Beverly made a little picnic bench complete with family and a sugar-work blanket. The spun sugar glistened in the sunlight, resting underneath the picnic table. Her gingerbread men were on the thick side, but still tasted good. Likewise, Bedelia’s gingerbread wine bottle hamper left Will speechless – the lid of the hamper was ajar, held only by the strength of whatever glue concoction she had created.

“It’s only week one but I’m impressed by the amount of skill that went into your showstopper,” Will said, picking up one of the small conical biscuits that had been baked in the shape of wine glasses, “This is superb.”

Francis had also used gingerbread; his biscuits depicted an Arthurian-esque dragon scene, a fire-breathing dragon bearing down upon a helpless village. “Francis, well, this is…” Alana began.

“It’s creative, I’ll give you that. Nobody has ever gone for the fire and brimstone route before…” Will scoffed, snapping the head off the dragon. “An interesting artistic choice.”

He looked up at the baker, biting down on the gingerbread. It was good, but the design was more impressive than the taste. Francis’ lip twitched, drawing Will’s attention to the little scar. His intense stare gave Will the shivers. The judge was convinced the man had some sort of agenda, but this wasn’t the time nor place to question it.

“Hannibal?” The blond man brought his biscuits to the judges.

A shot of electricity spilled through Will’s veins, spreading to every extremity. Hannibal placed his 3D scene on the table; a winter forest with a family of deer. Layer upon layer of biscuit had been sandwiched together to make the bulk of the design – a lone stag, head raised as if calling out to the woodland. The battering of a tree branch against a window echoed in the depths of Will’s mind.

The judge remembered his restless morning. The cold harsh rain fell hard on his skin, chilling him to the bone. A warm orange light swung before him, replacing the unending darkness with a winter forest. A lone stag. It opened its mouth to call –-

“Will?”

The baker blinked, refocussing to find Alana touching his arm. The tent was quiet, both contestants and crew waiting to see what was going on. Will shrugged his arm out of Alana’s grasp, and readjusted his glasses.

He cleared his throat. “S-sorry, where were we?” He turned to face Hannibal, who was looking at the judge curiously. “I didn’t sleep so well last night, I’m a little tired,” he added. Glancing up at Hannibal, he was met with an inquisitive sensation – the amateur baker looked at him with something along the lines of… understanding?

“Y-your stag model is very impressive. The weight of it tells me it should fall over but it’s like an invisible string is holding it in place.” Will lifted one of the smaller deer to taste, while Alana dismantled the main piece with care. Both mumbled something satisfactory, and Hannibal removed himself back to his bench.

“Anthony, bring it on up!” The man with the scarf walked towards the judges with a skip in his step. He placed his bake down on the table, and Will couldn’t help but laugh.

“Cats?” He asked.

“Cats,” Anthony replied. “What, they bring me joy!” He glanced at Will, a grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Are you surprised?”

The judge rubbed his jaw, hiding his shit-eating grin. “No, I just… I’m a dog person, that’s all.” Anthony looked over to Alana, who was picking at the little family of cats. She snapped a biscuit in two, and Will heard a satisfying crunch.

“Oh wow, that gingerbread is beautiful. Is that a hint of caramel?”

“Yes, family recipe. My mother is a big fan of adding a bit of salted caramel to improve a recipe.” The baker was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, running a hand through his short silvery-white hair. “It’s now a not-so-secret ingredient, I suppose,” he said, laughing.

Margot brought her 3D scene to the table, three little pigs each inside their own crafted hut. “It’s inspired by the family business.” She posited.

Alana and Will glanced sideways at each other, neither wanting to ask further. “Family business…?” Will murmured.

“Yes.”

Margot fell silent again. The judges gave up, and tried her gingerbread. “You’ve got some tough competition since half the tent made gingerbread structures, but well done – your biscuits are superb.”

Abigail’s hands were shaking as she presented her Easter basket biscuits to Alana. The edges of the biscuits were brittle and burned and the basket was malformed. Will could feel the disappointment coming from both Alana and Abigail, and the girl rubbed her neck through her scarf erratically in an attempt to hold in her emotions.

“It’s a little overcooked, I’m afraid, Abigail.” Will broke up a bunny, giving it a quick sniff before tasting it. “It’s a shame, the flavouring is fantastic.” He still felt a little shaky, and tried to cut himself short.

Alana picked up a piece of the basket. Will could see the distress; she wanted to mollycoddle her and make the girl feel better but there were no words. Lies would not help. “It’s… yeah, the flavour is really good, Abigail.”

Brian helped Abigail carry her bake back to her workbench. “Last up, Matthew.”

The nurse stood proud, head tilted, watching over Will. He had shaped his biscuits in the form of… birds?

“What kind of birds are those?”

“Hawks, Mr Graham, Sir.” He gestured a hand towards the little nest and the birds perched on a tree branch. “They’re hawks.”

Alana tucked in, looking forward to reaching the end of the bake. It had been a long day. “Oh wow. I love it when people add extra ingredients – are those chocolate chips?” Matt nodded. “Will, you have try these!”

Reluctantly, Will picked up one of the baby hawks. Matthew was giving Will a queer look, blinking slowly. The judge started to wonder who had chosen the contestants this year; what an odd bunch. His skin was crawling with discomfort, so he bit into the biscuit.

“The ginger and the chocolate make a really good combination, it’s a nice addition to the basic recipe.” He stopped bluntly. Will wanted to get out of the tent, his nerves were bristling and he was feeling a cold sweat forming under his shirt.

*****

“Bakers, gather round.”

Stools had been placed in a row along the middle of the tent. The bakers all took their seats, aprons back on after a short tea break while the judges left to discuss the day’s events. Will and Alana had been sat in front of the cameras for half an hour as they discussed the ups and downs of each bake. They had argued and eventually made a decision about who was to leave the tent.

“Now, as you know, Brian and I like to take it in turns to deliver the good news of the week.

“And so this week, after much arguing, Brian has allowed me the honours of announcing Star Baker.” Jimmy Price waved his hands emphatically in the air, an excited energy exuding from him. “This week, the Star Baker has reminded us how much we love dunking biscuits in our tea, and how, deep down, Will most definitely wants to eat cats.” The bakers laughed nervously. “Congratulations, Anthony!”  

The baker ducked his head in embarrassment, a rosy blush painting his cheeks. Matt knocked his shoulder and Jack patted him on the back. One or two of the bakers clapped.

Brian settled them down, “Sadly, you know we can’t take everybody through to next week. So, the person leaving us this week is – Abigail. I’m so sorry.”

Abigail’s shoulder shook, and the bakers crowded round her. The cameras spun their way around the group, then the bakers were interviewed one by one outside the tent. Anthony was pleased with winning the Star Baker award, and Abigail couldn’t manage to get many words out before choking up. Alana and Will both offered their sympathies to Abigail, both giving her an awkward hug.

The camera crew turned off their cameras. “That’s a wrap, guys! See you next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic comes with a recipe book for each chapter: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/149750270178/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-1
> 
> most of the recipes are either from previous seasons of gbbo or inspired by/around 
> 
> Somebody let me know if I accidentally left in any notes to self pls I cannot proof this thing any more


	2. Week 2: Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 2 is bread week; click here for the recipes: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/150781614273/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully nobody is looking for a reliable update schedule bc I am overwhelmed lately and cannot do much more than like try 
> 
> my supervisors keep telling me fun lab stories but i never want to encounter a frozen headless radioactive mouse in a freezer thanks

With the first week completed and sent to post, the cast and crew all made their way back to a local hotel. Most of the camera crew who did not live locally would be staying there for the foreseeable future; the rest of the production team and the bakers themselves were free to travel to and from the tent as they pleased. This suited Will perfectly - after the first few seasons he had decided it was more practical to rent a small cottage nearby and bring his dogs with him, rather than send them to be looked after at the kennels for the best part of three months.

Owing to the nature of the show, the bake off tent was always erected in the same part of the idyllic countryside. The actual location varied from year to year but the general vicinity was kept the same, in a feeble attempt to lose the prying eyes of the fifth estate.

A half hour's drive from the secluded field led to the small, antiquated hotel that held the swelling numbers of the production team - their annual spring residents more than made up for any shortcomings in the previous winter months.

As was tradition, and much to Will's chagrin, the post-pilot party was scheduled to take place from early evening until the small hours of the morning. The judge nursed a tipple of whisky off to the side of the bar while the camera crew and the production assistants ordered pint after pint. As the hours passed and the drinks flowed, their numbers dwindled. Will planned to stay there until midnight and not a minute later – an acceptable length of time to show his face, he figured – before heading home. He walked up to the bar to return his glass, bumping into Alana as he passed. She was laughing quietly at something Margot whispered in her ear. He glanced questioningly at the lack of personal space between the two women, but disregarded it. So long as it wasn’t his own personal space being invaded, he was happy enough to leave be.

A warm hand clasped his shoulder from behind. Will turned to find Anthony resting on him and leaning across the bar.

“I’ll take two of whatever he had,” Anthony ordered, nodding to Will’s empty glass. The judge tried to interrupt, but Anthony spoke over him, adding, “And make them doubles.”

“I was just about to head home, I don’t need another drink.”

“You don’t _need_ another drink, but now that I’ve ordered it, it would be rude of you to decline it. Wouldn’t want a good glass of whisky to go to waste,” the man with the salt and pepper hair grinned, “Would you?” Will sat down on the bar stool beside him. If he was staying for another drink he would be pushing the sobriety level for driving home… But he also didn’t feel up to fighting over something so banal as a guy buying him a drink.

“A single, then,” Will murmured.

“No problem! It’s not every day you get to buy a drink for a famous man,” Anthony sipped at his drink, noting the grimace from the judge at the mention of the word ‘famous’. “Sorry, I’m still a little star struck.”

Glaring over the thick frames of his glasses, Will shot a powerful look at the baker. “Most people tell me I’m grumpier and shorter than they imagined.” Anthony laughed.

“Well, I can’t honestly say I disagree with that sentiment,” he heard Will choke on his drink, “but that’s not to say that it’s a surprise to me. Your reputation precedes you.” A comfortable silence blanketed the two men as they quietly emptied their glasses. Will turned to look at the waning party; Alana and Margot had slipped away silently, a few of the cameramen were still slurring their way through their pints, and the last of the bakers were bonding at a table in a corner of the bar.

Anthony shifted to the left of Will. “So,” he began, “I know you won’t tell me what our odds are, and I’m not looking for any insider info, but I’m curious.” Will looked up from his glass to the baker. “What do you think of me? My chances?”

Will opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by another presence looming behind him.

“Ahh, the good Doctor wishes to join us. Please, pull up a pew.”

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Will drained the remains of his drink. Hannibal and Anthony exchanged small talk, and the judge nodded occasionally as if to feign involvement. During a welcomed lull, Anthony made his excuses and left the two men – approaching Bedelia who was gracefully sipping a glass of red wine and intermittently laughing at Chilton. Will wasn’t quite sure why the man was seething, but it was beyond his interest to actually ask about it. Either way, it amused Bedelia and he chose not to get involved. 

The doctor sat his glass on the bar, unbuttoning his blazer as he perched on the recently-unoccupied stool. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you feeling better? You looked rather flushed earlier, when I presented my biscuit scene.”

Will slammed his glass on the bar, grimacing at the noise. It was louder than he had anticipated, and the bar quieted at the interruption. He waited for the hubbub to continue, pursing his lips as he formed the words in his head.

“I had… Last night, I thought I saw a deer approaching my house. It felt like I was going to be overwhelmed, but at the same time it meant me no harm.” Will sighed. “Your biscuits were just, I guess, a badly-timed trigger.”

The doctor glanced over at Will, his eyes full of questions, but Will shied away. It had been a while since his last visit to a psychiatrist, and maybe he would have to consider booking another appointment.

“If you ever need to talk, Will…” Hannibal began.

Will stood up from the bar, interrupting the man, and threw a note down beside his glass. He wordlessly nodded his thanks to Hannibal and phoned for a taxi to take him home.

*****

“Bakers! For your signature bake this week, Alana and Will would like you to create some bread.”

“It has to be beautifully seasoned or flavoured in any way you wish, it can be risen with yeast, baking soda, or anything in between. If you’re all well and bready, on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!!”

“So what are you baking today, Margot?”

“When I was younger a read a book by Flannery O’Connor, and it made me want to keep peacocks. Growing up on a livestock farm made that a little tricky and my father wasn’t very keen, so I made do with baking peacock bread.”

“I love Flannery O’Connor,” Alana grinned.

There was an awkward pause, and Will coughed to start the conversation again. “What are you putting in your peacock bread?”

“I’ve got some orange and some white chocolate, it’s one of my favourite combinations.” Margot did a little curtsy, and Alana giggled. There was an odd atmosphere surrounding them, and Will chose to move away, catching up to Jimmy who had been lurking at a bench on the other side of the tent.

“Next up, Anthony. Anthony, what have you got cooking?” Will rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.

Dimmond bared his sparkling teeth in a lopsided smirk, “I am making a chorizo and onion naan bread,” he sighed, “I just really like savoury. The combination of the onion and the spicy sausage are just fantastic.”

“Interesting. The choice to make a naan is a brave move; nobody else is making one so it could be clever choice. You need to be careful to get the perfect pocket inside the bread.” The judge found himself grinning back at the baker. Anthony made him feel comfortable, like satisfying icing on top of a very attractive bun. “You serving it hot?”

“Of course.”

Graham nodded and moved past Dimmond, to Francis. The bulky man was staring intently at the scales, measuring out some flour. Will didn’t really want to break his concentration – the man looked like he could break him like a gingersnap. Instead, he stood and patiently waited for Francis to finish. Exhaling audibly, the man stood up tall and rolled his broad shoulders, looking at the judge with sharp eyes.

“Francis, how are you today?” Will asked, breaking eye contact. “What are you baking?”

“A walnut fleur loaf.”

“Why did you choose that? Does it have any significance?”

“My girlfriend.”

There was a long pause. The hair on the back of Will’s neck stood on end. He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

He hastily barked, “Right. Well, good luck,” before dashing off.

Alana was talking to Chilton about his chilli cheese bread. They seemed to be deep in conversation about which cheeses matched best with the chilli. Brian grabbed Will and led him to Bedelia, who was making a Taboon flatbread. There was a warm scent coming from her bench, the exotic spices mixing together with the air. Hannibal was next, making some sort of focaccia, but he was standing over a frying pan. The scent of unsmoked ham wafted towards Will, his mouth watering.

“Where did you get that? It smells beautiful.”

“I employ an ethical butcher.” Hannibal looked at Will, adding, “Only the finest cuts. I’m adding a cured ham to my focaccia, a little bit of unsmoked gammon to bring out the flavours.”

Alana drifted over to Matt, looking forward to his maple and pecan bread. Jack was glaring over his shoulder, making himself a Ploughman’s loaf. Finally, Beverly was creating a cranberry and orange sweet soda bread. Zeller was already waiting in front of her with a cameraman when Will rocked up to the bench.

“Why did you choose a soda bread, Bev?”

“To be honest, I prefer it to regular bread. I feel like it has something different to add to the table – I also really like the fact that you can add fruit to it without it kind of looking like a fruit cake!” She laughed, and Brian joined in. The cameraman walked away to film the other bakers.

Beverly leaned over the bench and lowered her voice. “Actually, Will, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, it’s not really my place, but you might want to watch your back. I overheard Anthony, Hannibal and Matt earlier discussing their bakes. I think they’re baking specifically with _you_ in mind, towards your tastes to curry favour.”

Will’s expression soured a little. He wasn’t one for nepotism, and he really didn’t think it would do them any good – even if he preferred one contestant over another, if the bake was bad then that was it. Besides, Alana would have her own opinion, and it wasn’t like he could sway her vote.

“I think everybody is at it a little.” He shrugged. “Margot and Alana were busy bonding over pet peacocks, earlier. Don’t worry, I’m not won over that easily.” Beverly frowned, and held her tongue. She glanced over at Anthony, and behind her at Hannibal. Both men met her glare with a menacing smile.

*****

“Bakers, if you will, please move your bakes to the end of your benches.”

Alana and Will stepped back up to the front of the tent, and first off the bat was Matt. “Matthew, bring your bake to the gingham.” Will cut into the loaf, sawing away at the crisp outside.

He grimaced. “It’s thick, and the inside is just a little bit soggy still. I think you needed to cook it just a little longer, Matt.”

Alana agreed, “It’s a shame, there’s such a good mix of flavours but the bread needed more time in the oven.”

Beverly’s soda bread turned out perfectly, as did Anthony’s naan. Bedelia’s flatbread was slightly overcooked, and Margot’s peacock bread was faultless. Jack’s simple Ploughman’s loaf was, much to Will’s annoyance, impeccable, and Hannibal’s focaccia was simply heavenly.

Francis brought his walnut loaf to the table. It was in the shape of a spiralling flower, Alana picked it up and tapped the base. It sounded perfectly hollow. The flavours were subtle but divine, and the noises Will made were obscene. “That’s fantastic, Francis. The presentation is beautiful, and the flavours are sublime.”

Puffing his chest out with pride, Francis took his bake back to his bench. Lastly, Chilton brought his creation to the table.

“…What happened?” Will asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

His face was flushed, embarrassed. “I, uhm, I forgot to set a timer.”

Will couldn’t hide his amusement. Alana, ever the professional, tried to stay composed, but even that was a challenge. The charred lump before them sat sadly on its white plate.

“Do I… Do I even have to try and eat that?” Will laughed. He tried to hack into it with the knife but it was futile. Charred chips flaked off, and he made little progress. “No, I’m sorry but, that _needs_ to go in the bin.”

Chilton watched on dejectedly while Jimmy and Brian paraded the burnt log to its silver grave. Will covered his mouth in an attempt to mask his joy. He _tried_ to hold it in, he really did, but it wasn’t worth it. His laugh was infectious, increasing in volume from a quiet chuckle until it breached everybody in the tent. Even Jack wiped a tear from his eye.

Frederick Chilton wasn’t laughing. He stormed back to his bench and sat down with gusto, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

The camera crew shut down their recording equipment as the bakers took a short break outside.

*****

“This technical challenge is sure to get you quaking in your little baker boots. Will and Alana, if you wouldn’t mind leaving the tent, thank you.”

“Now, bakers, this technical is all about precision. The recipe itself is simplistic, which means yes, you guessed it, this one is all about the presentation. Alana wants to see your creative finesse, oh my days this is going to be a fun one. We want you to bake an 8 strand plaited loaf, with a perfect golden crust.”

“There are two hours on the clock, on your marks, get set, bake.”

*****

“Ladies and gentlemen, please bring your plaits to the gingham altar.”

Alana and Will judged the loaves. Beverly came last, with a messy plait and undercooked bake, while Bedelia placed first – her loaf was almost picturesque. Margot, Chilton and Hannibal all did well, while Francis and Anthony struggled a little. Their plaits were a little messy and disorganised. Jack’s looked good but was underbaked, and Matt had added way too much salt.

“You really seemed to have struggled with this technical bake, Beverly. The shapes were all over the place and the loaf was burnt in some patches but still doughy in others. It was not good.” Will said.

Alana turned to Bedelia and added, “Your loaf was almost perfect. A few of the edges were misshapen but on the whole a good effort.”

*****

“So, Will, Alana; it started out really well for Beverly this week. What happened?”

Will nodded in agreement, “Yeah, she just seemed to really lose focus somewhere in there. Her design was all over the place, which was such a shame because the soda bread she made for the first round was beautiful.” He turned to Alana. “Frederick is in trouble, too, this week.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such loss of control over a bake before. I mean, forgetting to set a timer is one thing, but not smelling the burning bread or even thinking to check on it? It was a shocking performance.”

*****

“Morning, bakers. Today is showstopper day – that’s right, it’s time to put your buns where your mouth is. We want you to show us your best buns, 8 of them, if possible.”

“The judges would like them to be equal in size, shape and consistency. As always, you have two hours on the clock so on your marks, get set, BAKE.”

The bakers set off at a fast pace, eager to make use of every second. Will and Alana gave them space to breathe, letting them make some headway before interrupting them. They wandered up the tent, sticking their noses in and around the bakers.

Chilton chose to make onion and pine rolls, while Francis opted for rye and spelt. Jack had decided on chocolate quick bread rolls, and Matt was matching spinach and ricotta.

Alana stepped up to Margot’s bench. “Margot, tell me about your buns.” The two women laughed, and again Will got the impression he was missing something.

“I’m making one of my favourite childhood treats – _pain au lait_. They’re sweet and buttery, but really simple to make.”

“Are you adding anything extra to your buns or are we just getting them as they come?” Alana asked.

A faint blush arose on Margot’s cheeks, but she lowered her head to continue mixing her dry ingredients. “You’re getting them as simple as they come, no frills necessary.”

Will moved off to talk to Anthony. Price was trying to worm his way past the man and grab a bit of chocolate from the chopping board, but his hand was gently swatted away. “What plans do you have for your buns, Anthony?”

“I’m so happy you asked, Will.” He pulled out a jar of chilli powder, a fresh chilli and some finely chopped chocolate. “Well, as I think I mentioned before I’m a huge fan of the contrasting sweetness with a bit of something tangier, and bread is the perfect medium to do that in. I’m making chocolate and chilli buns.”

“It’s an interesting combination, surely, I just hope the chilli doesn’t overpower the chocolate too much. You’ll need to make sure the filling it distributed equally, otherwise it won’t bake well.”

Bedelia was busy mixing black treacle and muscovite sugar to make a dark dough. “Today I opted for some treacle bread knots. I figured after the last two rounds I didn’t need to do anything outrageously experimental, so I chose a recipe I felt comfortable with.” She continued to work the ingredients together, and Will left her to it.

He moved past her to Hannibal. “Hannibal, what have you got for me?”

“I am making St. Lucia buns, raisin-studded buns from Sweden.”

Will made a face.

“You don’t like them?” A ghosting emotion passed over Hannibal’s features, like a cold flush.

Scratching his curls, Will replied, “I don’t really like raisins, no.”

“Oh.”

Next up, Beverly. “Hey, Bev. You look determined.”

She gritted her teeth, laughing tersely, “Yeah, well, after yesterday I feel like I really need to redeem myself. So! If I’m going to do this, I’m going to give it my all.”

“You seem to have gone for an entirely different approach to the rest of the bakers, what exactly are you making?”

“Well, if I’m gonna go out in a blaze of glory and all that, I chose to make you my famous chilli and smoked cheddar bagels.”

*****

Will and Alana stepped back into the tent. There was a strong savoury smell dancing in the air, making Will’s mouth water. He breathed the smell in deep, filling his lungs. “Alright,” He said, rubbing his hands together, “Who wants to go first?”

Price beckoned Francis forward. “Francis, show us your buns.”

Dolarhyde’s lip twitched. He stepped towards the gingham table.

“Well, those look utterly divine.” Will commented. He picked one up, and squeezed it gently between his thumb and forefinger. “Not too hard, but definitely cooked through.”

“And they smell really good too,” Alana added. She tore one apart, still warm. “Wow. Those are almost perfect. Each one is a perfect shape, they’re consistent, and you made eight. Exactly what we asked for.”

Jack brought his loaves to the front of the tent. Each roll was uniform and perfectly rounded, risen beautifully. Will sucked air in through his teeth, trying to come up with a good word for the policeman. “Looks like you managed to take them out at the right time. It’s difficult to get the right rise in the chocolate, sometimes they can be overdone or underdone. It's hard to tell because of the dark colour of the dough. You baked them for exactly the right time, good job.”

Alana complimented Anthony on his chocolate and chilli buns, and Will groaned around a mouthful of Margot’s _pain au lait_. Buttery and melt in the mouth, Will took a sneaky second bite.

“Beverly?” The woman brought forth her bagels, and Will paled slightly. They were quite clearly burnt, the cheddar that had seeped out of the bread was black around the edges.

“Oh, Bev, what did you do?” He cried. “Those are charred.”

Beverly hung her head, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. “I put the oven on too high, didn’t realise they had overcooked.”

Chilton’s onion and pine nut rolls were lacking in onion, but Alana couldn’t bring herself to be too harsh – the rolls were otherwise faultless. Matt’s spinach and ricotta rolls were a little lumpy, with a great deal of spinach stuffed into them. Will warned him against filling his rolls too full next time. 

Hannibal lifted his plate of rolls. Will blanched, steeling himself for the raisins. He was surprised to see them, perfectly swirled, with only a small amount of raisins speckled through them.

“I did not want to push you to eat something you did not want to eat, so I minimised the amount of raisins I inserted into the mixture.” Alana frowned.

“Bully for _him_ , Will may not like raisins but I love them.” Hannibal pursed his lips, ducking his head in gentle apology. Alana lifted a bun, and teased it apart. Raisins decorated the top of each swirl. “At least it separates beautifully, Hannibal.”

She nibbled one piece of it and handed another piece to Will. He nodded in appreciation, licking a crumb off his finger with his tongue. He looked up, feeling the heavy sensation of eyes watching him intently.

Hannibal’s hooded eyes were glaring at him. The judge took a hesitant step back, feeling crowded somehow. “Th-those are really nice, actually. I almost didn’t even notice the raisins in the dough.”

The baker’s eyes warmed slightly, his face relaxing into a pleased smile. “Thank you, Will.” He raised a hand, touching his chest right above his heart, and bowed his head slightly. He then picked up his plate and took it back to his bench. Frowning, Will felt a faint blush creeping across his cheeks.

“Finally, Bedelia.” The blonde woman presented her knots to the judges, spread on a bone china plate and decorated with a drizzling of butter. They glistened under the warm lights of the baker’s tent. “Those treacle knots look fantastic.”

Price and Zeller jumped in, each grabbing a bun for themselves. While the presenters bickered between themselves, Alana and Will tore into the last of the day’s bakes. The treacle was sticky and sweet, and the rolls were baked at just the right temperature. A small hint of warmth lingered on the freshly baked buns.

“Sublime. That is possibly the nicest treacle bun I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Alana grinned. “Now, _that_ is a recipe that I would love to get my hands on.” A sly smirk spread across Bedelia’s face.

She looked past Alana. “It was passed to me by an old client of mine.”

*****

Price and Zeller sat down at the table with the judges. “Alana, Will, do you think you agree on the baker that will be leaving us today?” They pushed a few of the plates holding the showstoppers out of the way, and rested their clasped hands on the table.

“Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.” Will sighed. Alana nodded. “It’s just such a shame that the smallest mistake can come back and bite you, but that’s how it is.”

Alana chewed a nail, looking at the bakes before her. “It’s probably easier to choose a star baker this week than it is to choose who’s at the end of their journey.” She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “There are a few bakers who haven’t done as well as expected this week. I hate this bit.”

*****

Price and Zeller walked into the tent, looking at the anxious faces before them. Alana and Will followed behind them, heads held high and hands clasped behind their backs. The four of them stood to attention, facing the bakers.

The tent fell silent, bakers and crew waiting for the announcement.

Brian Zeller took a step forward. “It gives me great pleasure to announce this week’s Star Baker.” He grinned. “This week’s Star Baker gave us a right buttering up, and spread her tail feathers proudly on display. Margot, congratulations, you are this week’s Star Baker.”

The tent burst into a rapturous applause. The celebrations were louder this week after the contestants had settled and were comfortable with each other, bonding over mistakes and accidents. Margot’s cheeks coloured with a red tint, her eyes twinkling. A faint smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, and she looked at the judges in thanks. Alana winked backed.

Jimmy cleared his throat; the applause simmered to nothing. “As you know, much though we hate it, every week somebody has to leave us. And sadly, this week, the baker that will be leaving us is…”

He paused, waiting as the cameras cleared shots of all the bakers.

“Beverly, I’m so sorry, come here.” He walked to the baker, arms outstretched. “You did so well.” They hugged, and the rest of the bakers crowded round them.

Beverly laughed, plastering a huge grin on her face. “I know, it was my turn to go,” she smiled.

Margot turned to Alana and gave her a hug. The two ladies were in a world of their own. Jack patted Beverly on the back, giving his condolences. Zeller and Price crowded Bev - after last week they seemed to have bonded and were closest to her than the other bakers. Matt and Anthony stood off to the side, sighing with relief and taking a moment to just breathe. Bedelia and Hannibal were standing side by side, squinting at Chilton.

Will congratulated Margot, and gave Bev a playful punch in the shoulder. Will was sad to see her go, but he couldn’t overlook two mistakes. Will felt like he had fallen into step well with Beverley, and would consider joining her, Brian and Jimmy in the pub some time.

*****

Will sat down at his kitchen table, dogs running between his legs and the table’s. He had poured himself a small bourbon, leaning back into his chair thinking about the day. He had made sure to give Beverley his phone number before leaving the tent, and she had looked grateful. It wasn’t like he did it often, and she probably wouldn’t even use it, but he was pleased with himself.

Will Graham did not socialise often, but something about Beverley Katz was different.

He swallowed his drink, moving off to the sideboard which he had dumped the week’s post on and ignored it. He had forwarded his mail there for the next few months, but regretted it a little. Bills, bank statements, nothing exciting.

At the bottom of the pile was an envelope with a sloppily written scrawl on the front. It was addressed to the cottage, with his name printed carefully above the inky spider web of a street name. He frowned. The only people who knew his address were those involved in the Bake Off production. Not even Alana knew the house number.

He squinted at the writing. There was no postmark. No stamp. It hadn’t come from the post office – it was hand delivered.

A sharp trill rang throughout the cottage, the sound reverbed off the thin plaster walls. It took Will a minute to realise the noise was coming from his phone which he had left on the kitchen table. It rang off.

Will ignored it, instead opening the letter. Inside was a confusing scrawl of letters, some smudges and primitive drawings. Will was no expert on the psychologies of hate mail, but he got the feeling this was meant as some sort of threat. At the bottom, the note was signed with a depiction of what looked like some sort of... dragon?

*****

He woke to the hammering of fists on the door to the cottage. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Will groggily swung his legs over the side of the bed to the floor. His shirt clung to him with the cloying smell of day-old sweat, and his boxers had seen better days, but he stumbled to the front door without changing. Whoever was rudely trying to wake him would have to deal with Will as he was.

“Graham!! Open up!” Shouted a female voice. He twisted the key and tugged the door ajar, greeting the night air and the sight of his agent, Miriam Lass.  

Will glared at the woman, putting on his best angry face. “What are you doing.” He grunted, a statement rather than a question.

“Will, they found Beverley Katz.”

“...Alright? Found her where, I didn’t realise she was gone—”

“She’s dead, Will.”

A long silence fell on the dark hallway. Lass pushed her way past his door, and made her way into the kitchen. Will rubbed his eyes, trailing over to the drinks cabinet and pouring two fingers of whiskey for the both of them.

“What happened?”

His agent looked morose, avoiding Will’s face and instead gazing down at one of the dogs that was asleep by the back door. “Zeller and Price had taken her out for drinks, they got absolutely sloshed and sent her home in a taxi.” Miriam took a sip, the liquid burning her throat. She grimaced.

“I got a call from one of the lawyers. The police told him they found her all sliced up in her apartment about an hour ago. It’s awful, Will.”

“She was murdered?”

“Yeah. That is not going to look good for us – the press is going to have a field day with it.”

Will felt like he was supposed to object, that the ratings didn’t matter now that Bev was dead, but he couldn’t find the words.

“So, until the police catch the guy, I want to put you closer to civilisation – I booked you a room in the staff hotel.” Will opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off promptly. “Look, I’m not saying you’re in danger, but I don’t want to take any chances. You know how the fanatics can be.”

Will didn’t need to be reminded. He had been caught on the wrong end of a knife once or twice and he didn’t fancy his chances. “You think it was a fan?”

She pursed her lips and mulled it over, looking down at the empty glass. “Can’t hurt to be too careful.”

“Alright,” he said reluctantly, “but can you send someone here to look after my dogs?”

*****

Will spent most of the next day dozing on his plush new bed, avoiding the crew who were milling around the hotel. Small talk was manageable, but avoidance was preferable. He was going to try to catch up on weeks of lost sleep while he could.

Rolling over, Will noticed the clock on his bedside desk tell him it was almost time for dinner. He could hide out like a hermit for most of the day, but there was no avoiding the crew in such a small hotel restaurant with an allocated dinner time.

Picking up his mobile, Will remembered the phone call he had missed the previous night. He checked his voicemail.

“Will?”

It was Bev.

“Will, I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure who... Look, I think I just saw--” There was a sharp crackle, and Will heard the sound of gravel being crushed under hurried feet. “I don’t have any proof but I think he--”

He heard a heavy thud, and the message cut out. A soft bleeping rang through the air.

Bev had tried to call him for help, and he hadn’t picked up.

He put his phone back in his pocket, hands shaking. Padding his way down the stairs, Will found himself greeted by an enthusiastic waiter. He was guided to an already-occupied table; Alana, Bedelia, Hannibal, Anthony and Jimmy Price. They were all looking downcast, glazed eyes not really taking in the list of items on the menu before them.

It was a quiet dinner, small talk and silent spells, mostly. Hannibal offered a toast in memorial. “Try not to get too cut up about it.”

Will and Anthony agreed they would need more wine, and both signalled for the sommelier.

*****

“You too, huh?” Anthony called down the hotel corridor.

Hannibal turned to see the Englishman waving him down. “Yes,” he replied, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. He smirked. Anthony wondered if Hannibal had been expecting him to show up; he was casually waiting beside the hotel room door, looking nonchalant. “Would you like to do the honours?”

Anthony shrugged, shifting the bottle of scotch he had brought under his arm. His free hand knocked on the hotel suite door a few times.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” A gruntled voice beckoned within. The door was yanked open, revealing a rather dishevelled and confused Will Graham. “Wh-what are you guys…?” He looked down at the bottle cradled in Anthony’s arm, paused for a moment, and gestured the two men to come in.

“Not that I’m one to turn down free scotch, but is there a reason you two are bringing it to me, right now, at this time of the evening..?”

Anthony pulled his scarf off, draping it over a chair in the corner of the room. “I can’t speak for Hannibal, here, but I was struggling to sleep down the hall and decided to cash in on that promise of a drink.” He looked towards the other baker. “I just saw this guy in the hallway and thought, well, invite him too. After all, three’s a party.” He winked.

Will looked from one man to the other. Hannibal grinned again, pulling loose the knot in his tie. “I, too, was having trouble sleeping and decided to ask if you wished to partake in a nightcap,” he looked to Anthony who was now sitting on one of the chairs, “however, I was not so forward-thinking as to bring a bottle.”

Will sniffed, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck. He pulled a chair out from the small table in the corner of his room, where his guests had made themselves comfortable, and shuffled away to attempt a quick tidy. There were a few shirts lying haphazardly on his bed that he tried to hide subtly in the suitcase in a corner of the room.

“Don’t feel the need to neaten up for our benefit – we are the ones intruding without an invitation, Will.” Hannibal sat down. Anthony walked over to the sink and picked up a couple of mugs, rinsing them out. He poured a generous measure of scotch into each cup, and placed them down on the table.

“Here, a toast.” Anthony called. Will gave up on the clothes, shoving a stray pair of boxers under his bed. Will picked up a mug.

“What exactly are we toasting to?”

“To those we have lost, and those we still have.”

Will lifted the dark blue mug, clinking it with Anthony first, then Hannibal. “To Bev,” He whispered.

“And to us,” Anthony added.

The men drank. Drink after drink was poured, and Will found himself enjoying the company provided by the two men. The warm touches from either side were welcomed, happy cheers followed by a gentle pat of the arm. Anthony’s laugh was infectious, his stories lighting up the room, and Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with joy. He remained mostly silent, nodding along and sipping away at his mug.

Anthony paused, and took a moment to look at Will. He focussed on the blush of his cheeks, the soft bob of his Adam’s apple, the heavy eyelids.

Anthony turned to Hannibal, and saw a flash of hunger. A quick dart of his tongue as he mopped up a drop of scotch from his lips, and a lustful flicker in his dark eyes. Placing his cup gently down on the table, the liquid coursed heavily through his veins and Anthony smiled headily. Will also stopped laughing, and looked at him.

Anthony leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s forehead.

And another kiss to the flush rising quickly on his cheeks.

Anthony settled back in his seat. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was that kind of party or not.” He poured himself another drink. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

Hannibal reached out and stroked Will’s hand. “Is it that kind of party?” He asked.

A beat passed across the room. The three men were a sudden tangle of lips and limbs, stumbling out of the chairs and grasping at clothes. Hannibal was pulling Will’s shirt out of his trousers and Anthony toed off his own shoes. Will fell less than gracefully onto the plush king-sized bed, the two bakers looking down at him with a heady glint in their eyes.

“Oh, god, yes,” Will breathed.

Anthony leaned in, tugging Will’s head back, pulling him into a deep kiss. Hannibal stood behind him, unbuttoning his shirt. His sandy hair had fallen out of place and was brushing wantonly into his eyes. The other baker was slowly clambouring on top of Will, the brunet fully reclined on his back. Anthony lifted Will’s hips, shucking off his underwear. He jolted slightly, feeling a sudden breeze upon his backside.

Anthony pulled his shirt off, and kissed Will’s pale, exposed skin. He shifted a hand down the judge’s body, curling it around the hardening flesh. He leaned into Will’s shoulder as he felt a wet, probing finger at his backside, circling the rim.

“Somebody’s prepared for this,” Anthony breathed. "You brought your own lube?" 

Hannibal pushed a finger in, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. “Would you berate me for that?”

“Of course not, I have every mind to reward you, in fact.”

Hannibal laughed quietly, and responded with another finger. Anthony shifted so that his forehead was pressed heavily on Will’s shoulder. “Would you prefer to be in the middle?” He moaned into Will’s ear. The judge bucked his hips, feeling a cold finger enter him.

“How could I refuse?”

Hannibal opened both men, his fingers coated liberally and spreading wide. He stepped away for a moment to grab something out of the blazer he left draped across a chair.

When he stepped back, Will could hear the rustle of a packet. A warm hand ran down his shaft, unrolling a condom. Anthony scrambled off Will, shifting further up the bed. He bent his head forward, lifting his hips.

Will pulled himself up onto his knees. He felt warm hands grip his hips, and push him towards Anthony. He lined himself up, and Hannibal slicked his length up with his still-wet hand.

Hannibal guided Will into Anthony. Will exhaled loudly as he was engulfed by the sheer heat. The alcohol was still coursing through his body, enhancing every moment. His fingers tingled as he rocked his hips into the man, crowding over him, pushing Anthony’s head down into the bedsheets. He spread his hands over Anthony’s back, feeling the warm, sex-flushed skin beneath.

Anthony gasped. Will groaned, feeling a clenching down around him. The tear of another packet, followed by the probing of Hannibal behind him. Will could feel the slick, wet heat breaching him – sensation over-flooding his brain, the man closed his eyes. Sweaty and panting, Will lost himself completely in the moment.

The three men rocked together, gasps and grunts filling the air. Consumed by the bliss, Will reached around Anthony to help him reach completion. His hand moved separately to his thrusting; sense of timing completely lost in the pleasure coming from either side of him.

Hannibal leaned forward in the heat of the moment and dug his teeth into Will’s shoulder, tearing them away when blood began to well. Will clamped down on him, increasing the tempo of his thrusting. “H-harder,” Anthony panted, reaching behind him and pulling on Will’s hair. He turned around and pulled the man into a kiss, releasing onto the crumpled bed sheets below.

Will pulled out, and Anthony rolled over onto his back to get his breath back. His eyes were lidded, but the low light in the room gave them a mischievous glint. Hannibal also pulled out and, before Will could protest, flipped him onto his back. Hannibal pushed himself back inside, sparing no time for pleasantries.

He pounded harder, his thrusts shallow and his breathing shallower still. Anthony leaned in, lending an exhausted hand to Will’s straining erection.

The man came almost silently, his body stilling as Hannibal reached his fill. He rocked himself into Will, riding out the wave of his orgasm. The judge fell backwards, shattered, and the sandy-haired baker tried to settle his breathing. Anthony stood up and went to the small _en suite_ , bringing back some damp towels for the men to wipe themselves down.

The room still filled with only the sound of heavy breathing, Anthony was surprised to hear a laugh. It started quiet, a disbelieving howl that evolved into a warm chuckle. Will was grinning, stretching out his exhausted body.

“It would be cruel to kick you guys out after that, stay if you want but I’m about to pass out.” Will rolled onto his stomach, face-planted the pillow and began to snore. Hannibal and Anthony looked at each other.

“Well, with an offer like that, who could refuse?” Anthony bared his teeth in quick smile before pulling back the sheets and tucking Will in. He climbed in next to the man, curling himself into Will’s side. Hannibal stood, watching the two men.

Anthony’s breathing stilled, falling into a soothing pattern. Hannibal could see the sinews of the muscles on their backs, the rising and falling of their lungs. It was peaceful. He pulled a chair up to the bed, opening the window and fishing for a cigarette in Anthony’s blazer pocket. Lighting it up, he crossed his legs. Still mindful of his nakedness, Hannibal took a long drag. His hungry eyes flickered fast; the scene before him was one he would etch in his memory palace forever. A memory to call on when necessary, the two men spread before him, satiated and worn out.

*****

The sunlight bled in through the old curtains, arousing Will from his slumber. He tried to move but couldn’t, the weight of two foreign bodies securing him under the heavy duvet. His head pounded from the excessive alcohol consumption of the previous night and his throat was scratchy.

As he rolled himself over, confined in such a small space, Will looked over to the door. He felt rather than heard a knocking. Gently extracting himself from the covers he clamboured rather ungracefully to answer.

He opened the door on to a trolley, on which sat a red velvet cake. Beside it was an oversized knife. Will looked puzzled – he didn’t remember ordering room service and he certainly hadn’t ordered cake for breakfast.

Pulling the dessert into the room, Will was surprised that the cake felt heavier than expected. It looked sagged in the middle, cream icing oozing out as if piped on whilst the cake was still hot. He sat it down on the table, and felt a hesitant pull towards the knife. Hands moving on their own, he cut a slice out only to find that the cake was secreting a thick, metallic brown liquid.

Will jolted back, dropping the knife on the carpet, but still the cake gushed. It spilled off the table, across the floor. Will was shaking. He raised his hands to his head, grasping at his hair – hair which felt slimy to the touch.

His hands were coated in blood.

Will awoke, panting and sweating. His hair had matted and clung to his forehead, the heavy duvet like a damp blanket holding him down. Looking past the quilt he noted that there was no sign of a bloody cake on the table, and the two men beside him were still soundly asleep. Will exhaled shakily. There was little he could do, tucked in neatly between Anthony and Hannibal, so he focussed on regulating his breathing. They would be awake soon enough.

Until then, lay in solitude between the men, a faint snoring the only sound that escaped them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favourite bake off trivia is that mel and sue swear around crying contestants sometimes so they cant use the footage in the episode 
> 
> also i hope it doesnt bother anybody that i use british english lmao sometimes it can be a little off kilter, especially in relation to an american drama, but trying to americanise my english would be a nightmare to edit i love my extraneous u's


	3. Week 3: Tarts and Pastries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 3 is pastries week y'all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay... I had to do my honours project and thesis and it's handed in for feedback this week so I'm finally getting around to updating this aha;;;;;
> 
> Much appreciated for everybody sticking with this and I'm trying my hardest to keep on going with this bc I need some joy in my life after 4th year and PhD applications and pls somebody give me a future

“Week three in the Bake Off tent, and things are looking sticky. Last week, Margot came out on top – but can she keep hold of her crown? This week, the bakers are tested on their knowledge of tarts, their taste in fruit combinations, and a Greek technical that will leave the bakers feeling weaker than the Euro.”

Brian and Jimmy were standing in the grassy field beside the Bake Off tent. The clouds had disappeared and there was a beautiful blue sky, the sun shining high.

“What do you think of this week’s bakes, Jimmy?”

“I’m feeling a bit tarty, Brian.”

“On that note, welcome–”

“– to Bake Off,” they finished together.

There was an awkward pause as the cameras rolled down. They would have to address the whole situation surrounding Beverley, but there was no easy way to go about it. Adding an “in loving memory of” note at the end of the episode was too terse, considering it was a state of foul play, but mentioning it at the start of the show would completely derail the entire episode.

*****

“Good morning, bakers. Hope you’re all refreshed and ready for a bit of pastry work.”

“This week, Alana has chosen the task. She would like you to make us a tart.”

“But not just _any_ tart. That would be _way_  too easy, why would we ask for that? Gosh no, what we want you to make a spectacular tart, filled with plenty of flavours and packs a punch. We don’t mind what shape, just fill some pastry and make it good.”

“You have 3 hours on this bake, so take your time and give us something amazing.”

*****

Will and Alana wandered amongst the ranks, bench to bench, looking over the shoulders of each baker. They let the bakers get settled into their bakes before visiting each one in turn to ask questions.

“Matthew, what have you got for me this week?” Alana beamed.

“I am making an old family recipe, a spin on an American classic.” He pointed to the fruit in a plastic container off to the side of his bench. “It’s a chiffon pie, but I’m filling it with blueberries and raspberries.”

“Interesting. Does it not come out too wet?”

“Not in practise, no. But now that you mention it, I’m feeling a bit nervous. Things happen in the Bake Off tent that you never anticipate happening…”

Hannibal was sweating over his orange and date _m’hanncha_ , while Francis was preparing a tangy pear and raspberry frangipane.

Jack had chosen a chocolate orange tart, and Anthony a strong _tarte au citron_. Bedelia’s was based on an Arabian theme, filled with pistachio frangipane and cardamom crème pat.

Alana skipped up to Margot’s bench, leaning on the edge.

Will asked, “So, Margot, how will you live up to last week?” He smiled at the woman, and looked down at her ingredients. “Bananas?”

“Yep, banana _tarte tatin_.”

The judge winced, sighing loudly. “Bananas are brave.”

Margot’s eyebrows slid together, glancing at him questioningly. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that...” Will glanced at Alana, who was looking at Margot with concern, “Fresh banana gives a good punch, but the taste doesn’t always come through in the bake.”

“How many bananas are you putting in?”

“Uhm, three..?”

The judges shared a look, then turned back to the baker. “Good luck,” Will replied.

“Thanks, I guess…” Margot muttered, frowning at the man. She looked at her bunch and plucked a fourth one. “One more banana can’t hurt,” she mumbled.

Finally, the judges approached Chilton’s bench. “I’m making a wobbly apricot tart. I’m also making my own marzipan.”

“That’s a pretty safe bake for you then, yes?” Will questioned. “Did you not want to use the full three hours to do something more adventurous?”

“I considered it, yes, but I decided to go for a tried and tested recipe.”

“Hmm.” Will murmured.

*****

“Alright bakers, ten minutes left – ten minutes. Pretty up your tarts, it’s almost show time.”

The bakers finished their pastries, and Will and Alana re-entered the tent.

“That is time up on your tarts, please, bakers, stop touching your tarts and put them at the end of the benches.”

“Jack, please bring your bake to the judges.”

The detective hulked up to the table, presenting his chocolate orange tart. Will attacked it with a fork, the tines sliding into the chocolatey custard mousse with little opposition. “That’s a very clean bake, but there’s a bit of resistance when you hit the base, see?” He stabbed the pastry, struggling to cut through it.

Alana tried to bite into the pastry. “Yeah, the filling is on point but the base is overbaked. I think you left it in a little too late on the blind bake.”

Hannibal brought his _m’hanncha_ to the judges, and the presentation took their breath away. Both Alana and Will were speechless, not really sure how to react. The pastry had been wrapped in a perfect spiral, and it had been baked to the perfect colour. “Wow.” Will breathed. “I hope this tastes as good as it looks, because it looks spectacular.”

He picked up a sharp knife, and sliced it carefully down from the centre to the edge, the pastry giving way around the blade. It made a crisp noise as he cut into it, the pastry flaking as he exposed the filling. Will blanched, recent nightmares at the forefront of his mind and an expectation to see blood come pouring out.

Alana cut off a small corner, sampling the filling. The two judges stood in quiet appeasement, savouring the marriage of the sweet dates and the sharp cardamom.

Will broke the silence. “That is a work of art. Well done.”

The doctor took his bake back to his bench.

Bedelia’s Arabian night tart was a little underbaked; the pastry at the bottom soggy. Margot’s banana _tarte tatin_ was full of flavour, but lacking in oomph and wasn’t particularly memorable.  

Anthony presented his _tarte au citron_ to the judges.

“This is really good, Anthony. It’s got exactly the right texture, and it’s light. It’s the perfect dessert for when you’ve eaten too much and you don’t quite have enough space for something heavy. The raspberries that are on the top just add to the crisp freshness of the lemon.”

Alana took a forkful, looking thoughtful. “It’s very sweet. I think perhaps you needed to add a little more lemon, balance it out with tartness, but on the whole it’s a great dessert.”  

Francis presented his pear and raspberry frangipane. Both judges agreed it tasted fine, but the flavour of the pear was vastly masked by the sour berries. Francis sneered at them, his top lip twitching as he carried his bake back to his bench. Chilton’s wobbly apricot tart left the judges wanting more from the man, slightly disappointed by the lack of presentation and the overly enthusiastic scattering of icing sugar. Will found himself muttering to Alana under his breath as Frederick walked away, “He’s such a tart…”

Chilton evidently overheard, and turned on his heels with a foul glare. His cheeks puffed out, brows furrowed. Will shrugged his shoulders and looked elsewhere as Alana stifled a laugh.

“Matt, you’re up.” Brian called, breaking the tension.  The nurse lifted his chiffon pie to the table, presenting it with a lopsided grin.

“Well, it certainly looks tasty. The mousse looks beautifully fluffy, and the pastry has a wonderful shape around the fringes. You didn’t hack into it with a knife after it was baked, so that gives you a gold star in my books. Most people try to neaten it up around the edges but you made a decent enough bake that you didn’t need to.” Matthew ducked his head, grinning inwardly.

Will added, “Yeah, it’s perfectly risen and the berries work really well together – you managed to get a good blend and the flavours mix really well.” Matt looked up at the judge, smiling wildly at him. A shiver ran down Will’s spine. “W-well done, Matt.”

*****

“Alright, guys, I hope you have some energy left in reserve for this technical challenge. Bakers, you are going to _love_ this. It’s a bake as sturdy as the Greek economy.”

Jimmy Price turned to Will, and asked, “Have you got any advice for the bakers today?”

“…Be careful with time, use it wisely. And _don’t_ overstuff the pastry.”

The two presenters looked at the judge, sighed, and turned back to face the bakers. “You heard the man.” Zeller waved towards the tent entrance, “And now, judges, if you wouldn’t mind exiting before we start this challenge.”

“Yes, now, this bake is a pastry to rival all others – if you thought regular pastry was difficult then this may prove to be a fun one to watch.” Brian continued. He could see the bakers before him visibly pale; Margot worried a lip between her teeth and Chilton shifted from side to side.

“The judges wish you to make a nice, savoury pastry.”

“But not just _any_ savoury pastry, no; we would like you to make the traditional Greek snack _spanakopita_.”

“Yes, that’s right, the spinach snake pie often eaten during the Great Lent, we would like you to present us with a perfect pastry. You have three hours on this bake, so; on your marks,” “Get set,”  _“Psíste!”_  

*****

“Ten minutes on the clocks, bakers; ten minutes!”  

*****

“Time is up, bakers; stop sprinkling your snakes and slither on up to the gingham.”

A round of sighs circled the tent, followed by the shuffling of tired feet as the bakers placed their plates behind their photographs. The judges were led back into the tent.

Alana’s heart dropped when she saw the pastries before her. Will laughed softly behind his hand, trying to stay serious. Though, with such a disaster spread out before him, it was hard to remain staunch. “Wh-what on earth happened?”

“I think this task may have proven to be more of a _challenge_ than we realised, Will.” Alana laughed. Neither of them could stay stalwart, and the film crew had to step away for a few minutes to let the judges calm down.

“I can’t believe how badly this went,” Will said, eyebrows raised as he glanced at the pastries. Most of them were misshapen, many had been overstuffed, one or two were a little on the crisp side and one just looked downright hellish.

Trying to hide his amusement with a coughing fit, Will tucked into the _spanakopita._ Alana followed suit, sampling the mangled bakes. As each bake was ranked, the bakers admitted to having no idea what the final product would be. No wonder they had such an array of… shapes. Chilton’s had been the worst, while Francis and Bedelia had only _just_ burnt theirs slightly. Matt and Jack had made a decent attempt but had stuffed the pastries so full that they resembled some sort of fungal growth, and Hannibal had underfilled his. Margot’s had, although a little bent, looked and tasted the most like an actual _spanakopita,_ and Anthony’s had tasted good despite the horrific presentation.

All in all, it had been a bad day in the tent.

“I can’t believe that went so badly,” Alana turned to Will, flicking on the kettle. “You want tea?”

“After that abysmal day, I need a coffee, thanks.” Alana flitted to the coffee jar, spooning out some granules into a red mug. “I didn’t think it would be _that_ bad.”

“At least people enjoy a good train wreck,” She added.

Will murmured his agreement, accepting the hot coffee. Alana sat down next to him, her tea smelling distinctly like Christmas. He wondered what flavour it was.

“At this rate, though, at least I know who I want to leave this week. Sometimes it’s a hard choice, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already made up my mind.” Alana frowned at Will over the rim of her mug.

“Partiality is the key to being a good judge, Will. You have to remain unbiased.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I never went into law enforcement, then, isn’t it.” He huffed. "Anyway, it's a completely unbiased decision," Will added under his breath. 

The crew took a short break in the evening to hold a small get-together in commemoration of Beverly Katz. The showrunners figured they needed to address it, and getting a few shots of tearful contestants would make a fine filler. Brian and Jimmy led the group, and the crew shared some snacks and drinks, chatting quietly until the daylight began to ebb.

*****

The air in the tent was palpable. The bakers were all feeling nervous after the lack of skills they had each presented in the technical, and none of them seemed to want to make any light conversation. A friendly rivalry was really starting to build.

Will and Alana walked into the tent, following Brian and Jimmy. Alana’s skirt danced around her while she walked.

“After yesterday’s Greek tragedy, the judges are looking for something spectacular.”

Will stepped forward, “I don’t think we’ve seen such an impressively miserable technical in ages.”  The bakers all laughed nervously. “At this point, it’s all to play for. Any of you could leave the tent today.” He glowered, eyes glancing at each baker individually. A long silence followed.

Alana cleared her throat, pushing herself in front of Will. “We would like you to bake us a nice small batch of _millefeuilles_ , with a flavouring of your choosing. The only rules are that we want six of them, and they have to include a fruit of your choosing. You can include any other ingredients you want, provided they satisfy these conditions. Please, bake carefully.” Alana glanced at Margot, sending her a reassuring smile. “Some of you did better than others yesterday, but it’s still anybody’s game. If you screw up now, it could be fatal. Remember, we want this to be a showstopper.”

Jimmy and Brian grinned, clasping their hands together with a loud slap. “You heard the judges; six fruity _millefeuilles,_ and you have an hour and a half. It’s a short challenge, but no less brutal.”

“If you’re ready, bakers; on your marks,”

“Get set,”

“BAKE.”

The men and women in the tent hurried into action, wasting no time. Will and Alana gave the bakers a little time to get into the thick of it before interrupting.

“Hannibal, what flavours have you chosen?” Alana smiled at the doctor, watching him roll up his shirt cuffs. His forearm muscles tightened as he gathered up all his ingredients, brushing them to one side.

“Today I will try to redeem myself with a combination of a blueberry and lemon _millefeuille,_ it’s one of my favourite flavours.” He palmed a lemon, throwing it from one hand to another. “The lemon is going to be in the coulis, accentuating the natural sharpness of the blueberries.”

Will nodded, distracted by the lemon, “Interesting. How many times have you practised this?” He asked.

“This week? At least twice a day, however it is a recipe that I have been using for much longer than that.”

Anthony had chosen lemon and ginger, while Jack opted for a ‘red fruit’ _millefeuille_. The two men were absorbed in a sifting fury, combining flour and butter into a mixing bowl with great concentration.

Dolarhyde was creating a raspberry and white chocolate _millefeuille._ Will was really looking forward to trying it; it was hard to go wrong with such a recipe. The real question was, how would everybody fare with the pastry element of this bake, since it seemed to be a challenge this year?

“Frederick! You really struggled yesterday in the technical, so you’ve probably got the most to prove. What have you chosen and are you going to be able to do it?”

Blanching at the blunt rudeness from the judge, Chilton was physically bristling. He huffed out his cheeks, raising and lowering his shoulders in an attempt to appear threatening. Will merely blinked at the man.

“I am making a raspberry and blueberry _millefeuille,_ today. I have practised it many times and I am confident that today will go very well indeed.” He puffed, lifting his chest high.

Will scratched his stubbled jaw, clicking his tongue. “Well, I can’t argue with your confidence. I look forward to this challenge, then.” He walked away, moving on towards Bedelia.

Du Maurier was chopping up bananas, slicing each one finely. “My bake will be banoffee-flavoured, I love the combination and personally I believe they taste best with a glass of _Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise_ , though sadly I did not have one to spare.” Incredulous, Will nodded, a smile plastered on his face. He was totally clueless about wines, but it sounded impressive. One of the runners had mentioned to him in passing that Bedelia was trying to convince the higher-ups to let her cook whilst drinking wine, but it had been like getting blood from a stone.

Alana raised an eyebrow, glancing at Will. The two of them shared a look, and left the woman to her chopping.

Margot was busy preparing a pistachio _millefeuille,_ and Matt had opted for a strawberry baklava. Will and Alana split up, Will joining up with Jimmy to talk to the nurse.

“So, why choose to make things difficult and make a baklava?” He asked.

“Well, I really messed up the technical yesterday, I decided to go all out with this one – I’m also including an orange flower cream to stick it all together.”

“Wow,” Jimmy interjected, “You’re _really_ going for it, aren’t you? Trying to impress someone special?” He prodded. A faint blush arose on Matt’s face as he tried to hide it in the collar of his shirt, making himself look busy. He glanced over at the judges before continuing to to measure ingredients. “Ahh, I see, it’s a special bake, then.”

*****

“Alright, that is time up, bakers. Please place your pastries at the end of the bench and prepare to present them to the professionals.”

The sound of plates scraping across the wooden benches filled the air, Brian and Jimmy flinched. Alana and Will strolled into the tent, heads raised high to enjoy the smell of freshly baked pastry. “Hannibal, bring your _millefeuilles_ to be judged, thanks.”

The psychiatrist lifted his bakes, walking down the corridor between the benches holding the plate. He placed it gently on the clothed table. “Oh wow, those look fantastic,” Alana gaped. Each layer of pastry in the _millefeuilles_ was delicately placed one on top of another. The layers were absolutely perfect, each one uniform and level.

“Looks good, but the test is in the taste,” Will added. He stabbed into one with a fork, the pastry breaking crisply. “A nice, clean break, well done.” He lapped up a few blueberries coated in whipped cream and hazelnuts, licking a runaway drop of coulis from his thumb. He moaned around the fork.

“Oh, that’s beautiful.”

Hannibal bowed his head, smiling humbly. “I appreciate that, Will.”

Margot’s pistachio _millefeuille_ were formed well, but lacked structural integrity. Jack and Chilton had succeeded in making _millefeuilles,_ but each of them had a unique shape and one or two had been filled lopsidedly.

Matt and Francis had produced perfect bakes, though the pastry was too dry and flaky.

“Bedelia, you’re up next, please present your _millefeuilles,_ ” Her banoffee combination was perfectly assembled, with an optimal mixture of banana liqueur and caramel.

“The chocolate and caramel icing on the top of those is just heavenly,” Will said. “I was expecting the caramel to be too much, but it really works. I’m impressed.” Alana nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, the caramel totally melts in your mouth, it’s wonderful.”

She took her bake back to her bench. “And finally, Anthony.”

The man’s hair flopped as he walked, his soft scarf tucked haphazardly under the tan apron. “Now, let’s see… Lemon and ginger,” Will rubbed his hands together. “Such a brave choice. This better be good.”

Will cut into the top layer of icing and pastry, the flaky layers giving way under the sharp prongs. Lifting a mouthful of the creamy filling to his mouth, Will frowned. “That ginger is overpowering. I’m sorry, but it’s making my eyes water. _That_ is pungent.”

Anthony’s face fell. Alana swallowed a mouthful, her expression souring. “I want to say something nice, but I think perhaps you mixed up the recipe… Is there any chance you added two tablespoons of ground ginger instead of two teaspoons?”

“I-I… I mean, I don’t think so,” Anthony stuttered. “I guess it’s possible, but I thought I put in a few teaspoons…” Will offered the man a sad smile, and the dejected baker carried his plate back to his bench.

*****

“Bakers, Will and Alana have had their discussion and come to a decision. Today, it is my pleasure to announce the star baker. This week, the star baker has proven themselves time and time again. Their flan-boyant tart reigned supreme and left us in a spin, bursting with flavour and the desire for one or two more dates. His _spanakopita_ may have been a little under-received, but he more than made up for it with his blueberry and lemon _millefeuilles;_ congratulations, Hannibal, you are this week’s star baker!” Jimmy started clapping, and the bakers joined in.

Brian shifted on his feet. “And so the sad task falls to me. As you know, we wish we could continue every week without losing a single one of you, but, alas, it cannot be. So, without any further ado, the baker who will be leaving us this week is…”

The bakers glanced at each other, as if waiting in line at the chopping block.

“Frederick, I’m so sorry, it’s you.” A heavy sigh echoed round the room. Evidently, Chilton hadn’t made many friends during his time in the tent; it was a few moments before anybody stood up to commiserate him. Alana stepped forward to pat him on the shoulder, and the others moved in. Anthony slapped Hannibal on the back, and Jack gave him a look of approval.

The camera crew did a quick sweep around the bakers, filming their reactions before shutting off for the weekend.

*****

Back at the hotel, Will nursed a drink at the small bar. His nerves had mostly settled after his nightmare, and any thoughts he had of weird notes being delivered in the middle of the night were mostly out of sight and out of mind. He shivered, like someone had stepped on his grave.

Matthew was standing behind him, head cocked to one side and lips pursed, about to speak.

“What is it, Matt,” Will grunted, “You sitting down or staying stood there?” The baker perched on a stool, balling his hands together in his lap.

“I was hoping to speak with you, if you don’t mind, Mr Graham.” The man looked up expectantly, waiting for a response.

“Alright, sure.”

Matthew paused, blinking slowly. “So I overheard a few people talking after you moved to the hotel this weekend. They said the station had received threatening notes.” Will’s eyebrows shot up, eyeing the man wearily. “It sounded like they were threatening _you,_ Mr Graham.”

Will lifted his finger, asking the bartender for another drink. He offered one to Matt, but the boy declined.

“Have you seen the way smaller birds mob a hawk on a wire?” Matt scratched his ear, lowering his voice. His gaze bore holes in Will’s head, and Will shuffled uncomfortably on his perch. “You and me, we’re hawks, Mr Graham.”

“…Hawks are solitary.”

“That’s their weakness. Imagine if the hawks started working together. You need me.”

Will was incredulous. He silently wondered how he had ended up surrounded by so many psychopaths. Show business, probably. Attracted a certain personality type.

“Need you for what? Are you vying for some sort of special treatment?”

Matthew blanched. He was about to say something when the two men were interrupted, and Lecter sat down between Matt and Will. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all, Doctor.” Will turned to grab another drink. Hannibal and he engaged in small talk, quietly ostracising Matt from the conversation. After a few minutes, the nurse stood up and excused himself.

Hannibal spoke after a beat. “Did I interrupt something?”

Will huffed, sipping from the glass. “Just another kid with a weird fixation. Happens all the time, nothing to worry too much about.”

“He seems harmless enough.”

 _He’s not the one I’m worried about,_ thought Will.

The two men sat in a contemplative silence for a while, before Will stood up to make his leave. He turned to bid adieu, and saw that Hannibal was tensed over the bar. His hands were clenched and shaking, beads of sweat trailing down his neck.

“H-Hannibal..? Are you—” Hannibal stood, shakily.

“I need to… Lie down. I think I ate something that did not quite agree with me.” He fell forward in a faint, Will caught him.

“Alright, we’re gonna take you back to your room.” Will felt around in Hannibal’s pockets, searching for his key card. The two men stumbled up to his room, stopping on occasion to hold still as the hallways stopped spinning and Hannibal could continue walking. Getting into the room was fine, but trying to dump Hannibal on the bed left Will entangled in long limbs and unable to get up. He reached over to unbutton Hannibal’s shirt and free up his airways.

“I would get you a cold towel to help with those sweats, but you’re heavier than you look.”

Hannibal chuckled awkwardly through ragged breaths. “I think someone put something in my drink.” Will looked concerned. The only person near them had been Matthew, and the bartender. “Nothing would have acted that slowly from eating, it must’ve been in the glass.”

“You’re burning up; that’s not a good fever. If you roll over, I can get you a cold flannel.” Hannibal stirred, but not enough to let Will up. “Alright, we’ll get to that later then, I guess.” Will wasn’t sure what to do. It was an awkward situation, but Hannibal wasn’t in a particularly great position either. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I just need to lie here for a while, wait it out. The stomach cramps will dissipate eventually.” His breathing was raggedy. Will lifted his hand hesitantly, coming to rest it on Hannibal’s back. Hannibal was practically lying on top of him, and he patted his broad shoulders softly - albeit awkwardly.

The judge felt guilty. It must’ve been his fault Hannibal had been, well, targeted. He had a sour feeling in his gut that told him to steer clear of Matt for a while. Not that he could prove it was his fault, but one could never be too careful. Instead, Will resigned himself to this place for the night – lying underneath Hannibal and comforting him until the worst of the fever and cramps had passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is much appreciated, I'm sitting in the university library writing gay baking puns so
> 
> this week's recipe list: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/154676157048/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-3


	4. Week 4: French week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hon hon hon baguette eiffel tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I would update the new year with a new chapter. Each successive fic I write is somehow longer than the last and I'm not sure how that happened... Also, just a heads up, I'm still busy working on future updates but the schedule is erratic; I'm off to Slovakia for a few days and then I gotta get around to finishing the final draft of my honours thesis so lmao 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the people I know IRL who for some reason enjoy reading my fics even though they do not regularly read fics or hannigram smut or anything - this one is for y'all! I just want to take this moment to point out that I missed Norman a lot and so that's who Jack is based on, and Norman came back on Christmas bake off and I almost cried he's so great

The headlines were splashed all over the newspapers in the hotel lobby when Will woke up for breakfast. “Flour-tatious banter in the Bake Off tent? Inside scoop reveals all!” A cold shudder washed through his body. Grabbing one paper he flicked through to find the offending article. He was reassured to find that nobody had been named, only that one of the judges had a particular fondness for one of the contestants. It didn’t come as a surprise that the by-line had Freddie Lounds written all over it. Nepotism was the name of the game, and somebody was throwing out accusations left, right and centre. Graham made a mental note to talk to his manager and find the route of the gossip.

He flushed as he remembered carrying Hannibal up to his room last night. Surely that couldn’t be misconstrued as favouritism? Had somebody seen it and assumed more than was to be seen? Hannibal had clearly been unwell. But that had been too recent to have hit the headlines, and the article looked to be extremely vague - promising future scoops with more detail from a "secret source inside the tent". He thought back further, to the meal he had shared with Hannibal and Anthony… A furious blush settled across his cheeks and he binned the paper – stomping towards a steaming cup of coffee to clear his head.

He had to disentangle himself. Rise above the rumours and keep himself beyond reproach. At this late stage in the game, the wrong sort of gossip (true or not) could completely trash his career – where would he earn the money to take care of his dogs?

*****

“Week four of our baking challenge and currently Hannibal is looking strong. Last week’s star baker is pulling away from the pack, crafting elegant pastries and spectacular signatures.”

“Who is going to challenge him for the title? Time to find out, this week on bake off.”

*****

“ _Bonjour, mes amis, et bienvenue à la_ Bake Off tent.”

“This week we’re visiting our good old regal neighbours. This week is French week.”

“The bakers are feeling fresh after a long week of testing out new bakes, and we have a new set of challenges to smash.”

“Morning, bakers. For the signature bake this week, we want you to construct an erection of the highest order.”

“Yes, that’s right, we want you to bake a Charlotte cake. From the land of the French, we want a structure as sound as the Eiffel tower. But with preferably less rust. And dropping a pencil from it won't kill anybody. So, if you’re ready, bakers.”

“On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“BAKE!!!” 

*****

“Bedelia, what are you baking today?”

The blonde looked up at the judges and nodded her head in the direction of her ingredients. “I have chosen a lemon drizzle Charlotte cake. My lemons are over there, ready to be juiced.” Will licked his lips, the thought of the tangy citrus fruit colouring his thoughts.

Margot had opted for a tiramisu, whereas Hannibal was preparing to bake a Charlotte Royale. As Will and Alana moved on to Matt, they paused. “Matt, what flavours are you gonna use?”

“Well, totally coincidentally, I, too, have chosen to make a tiramisu Charlotte cake.” He glanced up at Margot across the tent, who was frowning heavily. Matt winked, and shrugged his shoulders.

“A head to head, then. Interesting. I wonder who’ll come out on top…” Will muttered, looking at the boy with disdain. He still felt uncomfortable - Matt had heavily implied that somebody was out to get Will, and then Hannibal had ended up getting caught between them. He still wasn't sure if he was to blame, but he certainly wasn't going to let his guard down. 

Francis pointed Alana to his ingredients – oranges and lemons – and Jack dug himself into making the basic sponge for his structure. He chose a strawberry mousse twist on the classic bake.

“Anthony, to what pleasures will you introduce me today?” asked Will, nosing around the bench.

“I will be attempting a strawberry and cranberry russe,” he replied.

“…Attempting?”

The man shrugged ruefully. “Yes, well, it’s only worked in practise about fifty percent of the time. So, I’m hoping those odds improve today.”

*****

“Bakers, that’s it, time to bring your bakes to the end of your benches. Let’s see who did well and who’s getting _nil points_ , today. Anthony, you’re up first.”

Anthony brought his cake to the judges. It slanted to one side.

“That’s… Well, it’s still holding together, I’ll grant you that. But, I mean, you seem to have lost a little bit of height on one side.” Will rubbed his chin.

Alana cut into the cake. “Yeah, there seems to be a slight collapse over here.” She took a bite. “It definitely tastes good, though. The cranberry and strawberry blend well, it practically _screams_ summer.”

Hannibal was next. “The knife cuts into the sponge beautifully. It just glides right through.”

“And your decoration is really good.” Alana tasted the _bavarois_ , adding, “Those strawberries are really fresh, wow, you can really taste them. And there’s something else in there, too, is it some sort of liqueur?”

“Yes, raspberry,” he responded promptly.

“It’s fantastic,” Will added.

Bedelia’s lemon drizzle Charlotte cake was absolutely on top form, and Margot’s tiramisu shone bright. Matt had struggled slightly with the mascarpone; the meringue had not formed properly and lumps of white were still visible.

“Jack, bring us your mousse,” Brian beckoned.

“Your madeleines look a little overdone, Jack.” Will frowned. “But that mousse is heavenly. It simply melts away on your tongue.”

“And finally, Francis.”

“The orange and lemon flavouring is fantastic, but a lot of it has soaked through into your ladyfingers. The structure is holding for now, but I’m not sure how long it will last.” Alana nodded at the tall man. “Good job, though. It tastes really sweet, exactly what you want from this sort of bake.”

*****

Brian rocked on his heels. “Bakers. Today, Will and Alana have designed a challenge that will most probably result in you all tearing out your hair. Sorry, Jack – you might have to tear out somebody else’s hair." An awkward titter filled the tent. "Now, this one was slightly different in that, we asked you all to choose a flavour beforehand, without knowing the bake. Using these ingredients, the judges would like you to bake us a _crème_ _brûlée_.”

“That’s right, bakers. I hope you all chose well. You have 2 hours on the clock; on your marks,”

“Get set,”

“Baaaaaaaaake.”

*****

The judges re-entered the tent, looking over the variety of _crème brûlées_ that lay before them. Each one was unique, with a wide array of ingredients. They had given the bakers a really big challenge, and further still had also imposed upon themselves in that they were totally in the dark about each flavour. Will hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself tasting them all.

“Which end shall we start with, Alana?”

Alana walked to the far end, waving a hand at a small terracotta pot. “Let’s start with this one.” She picked up a spoon, prodding the top. It caved, slightly, at the touch. “Hmm.” She scooped out a spoonful.

“The toffee in that is really nice, but I don’t think the oven was preheated to the right temperature. See, here; it’s risen and sunken again because of the heat distribution.”

Will bit into the next one. “This one, too.” The top collapsed as he poked it. “The flavour of the rhubarb is really coming through, though. And the ginger.”

“The ginger in that is really sharp.”

They tasted the next few; Alana appreciated the lavender-flavoured _crème brûlée_ , and Will savoured the white chocolate one. The one full of summer berries was too soggy, and hadn’t risen well enough. Will screwed up his face as he tasted Hannibal's lavender dessert. 

“And here we have a perfect example of a _crème brûlée_. It’s perfectly risen, and beautifully cooked through. This one shows some serious skills. The combination of the liqueur and the coffee is great.”

“And finally, this one.” Alana scooped out a chunk, “Oh, wow. I wasn’t expecting a Baileys _crème brûlée_. That is quite possibly the best _crème brûlée_ I have ever tasted. Congratulations.”

Alana and Will marked each pudding; Matt and his summer fruits came last, followed by Margot’s rhubarb and ginger, and Anthony’s sticky toffee _crème brûlée_. Hannibal's lavender attempt was left sourly in the middle, with Alana and Will disagreeing on whether it was actually a great idea or a monstrosity. In third place was Jack, with his white chocolate pudding. Coming a close second was Bedelia’s fruit liqueur and coffee _brûlée_ , and finally in first place was Francis’s Baileys dessert.

“Francis, I don’t know how but you managed to make not only a perfect _crème brûlée_ , but by choosing ingredients and not knowing the recipe you also managed to make the best _brûlée_ I have ever tasted. Honestly, well done.”

*****

“Morning, bakers. It’s showstopper day, today, and boy do we have a corker for you.”

“That’s right, this last challenge of the day is rather filling – Will and Alana want you to make a tower of profiteroles. You have 90 minutes on the clock, at which point I will proceed to stuff myself silly with them. On your marks.”

“Get set…”

“…Bake.”

The judges made their way to the first row of benches. “Hey, Margot, how are you feeling today?” Alana asked the woman.

Margot was intently hacking up some pistachios, and Alana leaned forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Margot’s cheeks coloured, she cleared her throat gently. “I’m, uhh, yeah I guess I’m doing alright. Just got a lot to focus on, today. 90 minutes to make that many choux buns is going to be a feat.” She wiped her hands on her apron, and placed them on her hips. “So. My profiteroles. I am filling mine with pistachio and white chocolate, today.”

Alana looked impressed. Will asked, “Why white chocolate?”

“Honestly? Why not. I feel like it really accentuates the taste of the pistachios. You want the profiteroles to taste nice and fluffy, and what’s fluffier than white chocolate?” A soft smile danced on her painted red lips. “You can put white chocolate on anything, and I’ll lick it right up.” Margot grinned.

Will frowned as Alana bashfully dipped her head. Next, they interrogated Bedelia. She had her recipe sheet in one hand and the other was raised in such a way that it appeared to be holding an imaginary wine glass. “Bedelia? Have you forgotten something?”

“Hmm?” She murmured. “Oh, no, sorry, the preparation for this week was really trying, for me, and I may have gotten used to baking with a wine glass to hand…” The judges chuckled. “Yes, so, I figured that profiteroles are a bit of an indulgence dessert, which I whole-heartedly support, and I decided that the only thing that could improve them would be Ferrero Rochers.”

Will was incredulous. “How in the world did you reach _that_ conclusion?” He threw his hands out wide.

Bedelia glanced at him. “How else do you improve a recipe than with your favourite chocolate?” She asked him. “It’s common sense, no?”

Alana left Will to go talk to Hannibal, Francis and Jack, and the male judge stalked up to Anthony. The man was cracking eggs into a pan, starting to make his choux pastry. “Anthony!” He shouted.

“Will!” The man greeted him. He slapped Will on the back, the two men bent forward slightly over the bench. “Come to see what’s crackin’?” Will grimaced, a quiet whistle sounded from the sharp inhale. “Yeah, alright, that was a bad joke. Worth a shot, though. I’m just making the pastry, right now, so it’s relatively stress-free, though I’m a little worried about the caramel.”

“Caramel?”

“I’m going to make salted caramel and chocolate profiteroles, but I’ve been really struggling to get the right consistency for the caramel.” He sighed into his palms, “I keep burning it.”

Will pulled himself away from the jolly Englishman and moved on to Matt. “Matt, what have you got to show me?”

The baker tilted his head to an awkward-looking angle, and sniffed hard. “Yeah, uhh, I really need to get my act together today and wow you guys, so. I’m combining banana profiteroles with a whipped coconut cream filling.”

“The banana is _in_ the profiterole?”

“Sort of, yeah. It’s also going to be in the pastry.”

Will pursed his lips. “You remember how well that went for Margot, right? You have to be sure that if you’re putting in banana it’s gotta taste sharp.”

Matthew shied away from the judge, averting his eyes. He started peeling a banana, and Will let him be.

*****

“Bakers, bring your towers to our sacrificial altar. If anybody needs help, I can offer you my two hands and an empty stomach.” Jimmy guided the bakers to the front of the tent.

Margot and Anthony had a little wobble on their way up the catwalk, the tips of their towers almost falling off their plates and rolling away. Their sauces clearly hadn’t set in the short time they had been given to make them – the heat increasing from the transition of spring to summer wasn’t helping, either.

The towers sat neatly in a row, so the bakers could each compare their designs. “First up, Francis.” Alana pulled the top profiterole off the plate, while Will went for a more… Destructive approach. He stabbed his spoon into the middle of the tower, the top few layers tipping over. He split the pastry, letting the filling pool on the plate in front of him. It was a pale green colour, seeping into the layered dough. Sceptically, Will lifted a mouthful and chewed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a mint chocolate profiterole before, Francis. I’m impressed at the ingenuity. It’s such a simple concept but it’s clearly working in your favour. The flakes of chocolate in the mint cream only serve to add to your pudding.” Francis glowered at Will. The judge hesitated, confused. Every time he conversed with Francis, he felt like somehow he had wronged the man. Lately he had only praise to give and yet there was a clear hatred in that stare.

Alana moved on to the next – slightly lop-sided – profiterole tower. It was Bedelia’s. She had decorated it with chocolate sauce and a scattering of hazelnut dust. It looked regal, elegant. “I’m really excited to try this one, actually. I love Ferrero Rochers.” Alana mumbled. She moaned around the mouthful of pastry, throwing her head back. “Can I have a second helping of that one?”

Will leaned in and scooped out one of the hidden profiteroles from inside the structure. “Just in case anybody thinks they can get away with hiding the bad ones…” He bit into the dessert, and grinned. “That,” he said, “That is absolutely perfect. Shame the structural integrity is a little off, but other than that it's fantastic.”

“I wasn’t really sure how you were going to incorporate the flavours – or even if it would work, actually – but that is really good. Congrats.”

Anthony’s salted caramel profiterole tower was a little on the soggy side, having – for once – _under_ cooked the caramel as opposed to burning it. Other than that, it tasted heavenly. Margot’s pistachio and white chocolate pudding went down swimmingly, and Alana still had a rather odd flush on her cheeks. Will made a mental note to ask her about it later.

“Jack, yours next.”

“The raspberry flavouring in that is really nice, Jack, but it overpowers the strawberry in the pastry. I really want to see _more_ from you; get you out of your simple recipe comfort zone.”

Alana agreed. “You could really stand to take a leaf or two out of Bedelia’s book, actually. Her idea was really simple but totally original.”

Matt’s tower was sagging quite badly. The coconut cream had oversaturated the pastry and the bananas were sticking out from below. Will wasn’t really sure where to begin. “Matt.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Matthew, what happened?”

“I didn’t cook the pastry long enough; the tops were starting to burn and the rest was still a bit raw but I didn’t want to risk burning it completely and I hoped it would just all be fine but then I put the cream in it and…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. It kind of. Flopped, I guess.” Brown sighed, hanging his head.

“Well, we still gotta taste it, so don’t lose all hope,” Will grimaced. There was nothing worse than eating something he _knew_ was going to be raw. He tried to put on a brave face. Alana lifted her spoon, too.

“The banana has been cooked thoroughly, and has a really nice texture.” She muttered under her breath, trying to find a positive. “The dough, on the other hand… I’m sorry, Matthew, but it’s raw underneath. The structure you _had_ baked has been totally soaked by the coconut cream and it’s fallen through.”

Will nodded, licking his lips. “That cream is beautiful, but I agree. The pastry really let you down.”

Finally, Hannibal brought his bake to the bench. “…What is _that_.” Will scrunched his face in disgust. There were small pastry crabs decorating the outsides of the tower, perfectly glazed and shining under the harsh halogen lights.

“Crab.” Hannibal replied, rocking on his heels, nodding his head matter-of-factly.

Will felt his mouth drop. The infamous “Graham scowl” spread across his face, a deep furrow in his forehead from the sheer magnitude of eyebrow-lowering. “Crab.” He repeated.

Hannibal bowed slightly. “Crab.”

The judge glanced at Alana, hoping for a vote of solidarity and instead found her giggling. He guffawed, “What?” Will held his face in his hands. “That is an affront to the holy sacrament of the profiterole,” he cried. “Alana, please tell me you agree.”

She pursed her lips, looking thoughtfully at the choux. “I suppose we never specified that it had to be a sweet profiterole tower,” she said quietly, looking quite impressed by the man’s efforts. “It’s a beautiful structure, and it’s decorated nicely with little pastry crabs. Thematic. Can't judge it until you try it, I suppose.”

Will sighed audibly. “Alright, fine. Let me try this monstrosity of a dessert,” he mumbled, aggressively hacking into the tower with his spoon. “I hope you realise that I feel personally offended by this.”

The judge lifted his fork to his mouth. “It’s… You know, it’s not often I struggle to decide how I feel about something.” Will crossed his arms, adding, “That tastes nothing like I expected but I still can’t say it tasted _bad.”_ He looked at the profiteroles and sighed. "You know when you eat a cake that somebody decided to craft in the shape of a burger, and you  _know_ it's a cake but the flavour still surprises you? Yeah, that's what I'm feeling right now." 

Alana grabbed a bite, too. “It’s definitely nothing I’ve ever had before. The crab doesn’t penetrate the pastry too much, but you can still tell it’s fleshy. Good job, Hannibal.” She smiled. "I think.” 

Will hummed, and nodded in agreement, putting down the utensil. “I guess it’s good but I still feel betrayed.”

*****

The judges re-entered the tent, eyeing up the bakers who sat swinging their legs nervously. Zeller and Price stepped to the fore, and the tent fell silent.

“As you know, this is the end of week four in the bake off tent. You have all done well to get this far, especially one person in particular who has dazzled the judges this week.” Price grinned. “I know exactly how she will celebrate; a nice glass of wine in one hand and a baking tray in the other – congratulations Bedelia.”

The rest of the bakers clapped, looking wearily amongst each other. Anthony and Margot clasped each other’s hands, while Hannibal, Jack and Francis looked on apathetically. Matthew looked pale – though that may have been due to the lighting in the tent, it was hard to tell.

Zeller broke the silence with a long sigh. “This gets tougher every week, as we learn more about you guys. But sadly, somebody has to go.” He stared out at the faces before him. “It was a hard choice this week, but the baker leaving is… Matt, it’s you, I’m so sorry.”

Matthew blanched. Bedelia leaned over to rub his shoulder, and the other bakers sighed with relief. As the group gathered to commiserate Matt, Will stepped towards Jack. “It was a close one this week, but you scraped by just barely. Next week you gotta step up your game.” The policeman eyed Will cautiously, before turning to join in the celebrations.

*****

Will took a detour on his way to the hotel to see his dogs. His sitter was doing a good job, taking them all for long walks and feeding them enough, but it wasn’t the same as taking them out himself. Miriam had warned him not to come back to his cottage until filming was over but it was still daylight outside and he couldn’t see the harm.

His dogs had clearly missed him, jumping on Will the minute he walked through the door. He had had to take them all outside to burn off the excess energy, and now the judge sat nestled between them on the worn sofa in the living room. Sitting in such luxury, it was no wonder that he had fallen asleep.

Will awoke to the sound of the walker coming in the door. He looked outside to discover the sun setting and jumped back to life. He needed to show face at the hotel soon or his manager would skelp him round the ear. He thanked the dog walker for her good work, and wistfully made his leave.

Pulling into the hotel car park, Will saw a familiar silhouette standing near his regular space. “Matthew,” Will sighed. There was a throbbing pain pulsing at his temple, so he took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. A headache would be present soon, and he needed to lie down before it flared up too much. Engaging with a spurned contestant was not currently in his best interests.

He climbed out his car, shutting the door softly. “Did you think about my offer?”

“Leave me alone, Matthew.”

“I can’t do that, Mr Graham, sir.”

“Was it you? That spoke to the tabloids, spreading rumours?”

Matt frowned, shaking his head. “I have nothing to do with that. But I know that you’re not safe.” The man walked towards Will, reaching out for his arm. "You and me are the same." 

Will pulled away. “The only thing I’m not safe from is you, Matt. Go away or I’ll call for help.”

Raising his arms in surrender, wrinkling his face and bobbing his head, Matt stepped back and Will shouldered past him.

*****

Being cooped up in his hotel room for days, Will jumped when he heard a phone beep. Anthony had extended an invite to dinner again; to both him and Hannibal. Will wondered momentarily how the baker had gotten his number, but he didn’t really care. That wasn’t a huge stretch for most people these days, and Anthony could charm the pants off anybody for something like that.

He needed to be out of his room, fast. It was like a whole new form of cabin fever. Miriam had chastised him for going back to his cottage, which he had conveniently failed to mention to her. She had found out via the dog walker, and she still wasn’t very happy so Will had placated her by not leaving the hotel unnecessarily. It was all he could do before he feared she would give him an ankle monitor.

He jumped at the chance to eat dinner with somebody other than himself. It would pass a few hours before he holed himself back in his room for the night. Oh, the life of a celebrity judge(!)

He found the two men already in conversation at a table in the hotel restaurant. Both were dressed neatly in evening shirts, Hannibal in a bowtie and Anthony wearing the scarf he had been wearing the first day they met. Will looked down at himself, underdressed for the occasion and looking out of place. He winced, wishing he had had the forethought to at least neaten up his beard.

“Will!” The men beckoned him to their table. Hannibal handed him a menu, and Will climbed out of his olive overcoat. Will gave his order to the waiter and picked up his glass, Anthony pouring him a _pinot grigio_. “How are you today?”

The three of them fell into a comfortable conversation; mostly small talk, as they passed the time waiting for their meal to arrive. Will caught a few surreptitious glances between Anthony and Hannibal. It felt like the three of them shared a secret, hiding it behind sly grins.

Anthony topped up Will’s glass as the waiters brought their main course. Anthony opted for a fish course, while Hannibal and Will chose steaks. The conversation flowed as readily as the wine. With each glass there was an increasing tension in the air. Will looked up at the two men, trying to work out what was going on. Hannibal and Anthony kept glaring at each other – two glasses ago, this may have looked subtle, but now it was ridiculously obvious.

“Alright, what’s going on? You two are giving each other the dirtiest looks and it’s making me feel awkward.”

The bakers looked away from each other, surprised, and then to Will. Both were hesitant, but neither seemed willing to voice their concerns. Will stood up quickly, and dumped his napkin on his plate. “The wine warmed me up so I’m going out for some air; if you guys can’t tell me what the problem is then deal with it before I get back.” He stormed off.

Will exited the hotel through the main doors, and leant against the cool pillars standing on the terrace. He looked up at the night sky, the cool air calming his mind. Closing his eyes, the judge breathed in, filling his lungs. He thought back to the days when he used to smoke, and was envious he didn't have it as an excuse any longer to remove himself from social situations - instead he just stood up and left.

It wasn’t until he felt hands on him and was pushed to the ground that he realised it was already too late to react.

Will opened his eyes with a start. A large man in a balaclava and dark beanie was looming over him, menacingly tall. He was of a stocky build and holding some sort of club. Will crawled back on his hands, trying to distance himself from the man but to no avail. His assailant stalked closer, beating down with the wooden club. He smacked Will across the cheek with a snarl, sending him reeling. Will bit down on his lip and felt blood welling, spat it on the ground.

The man grunted, and Will tried to speak but was struck down again. It was with a sick sense of irony that he noted the club was, in fact, a rolling pin. This was some sort of cosmic joke, or divine justice. Will thought about calling out for help, but his cries would fall on deaf ears – he was outside, alone, in the middle of the countryside. Not even the hotel concierges would hear him, through the heavy closed front doors. He tried anyway, but his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if he had made a noise out loud or if it was all in his head. 

Will couldn’t see the man’s face, but he felt the rage. The man grumbled something he couldn’t quite make out. Raising his hands to protect himself from another blow, Will heard a deafening crack of wood against bone as he was knocked unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I worry that my Scottish grammar is coming out bc I don't actually know if anybody else uses 'skelp' in the regular English vernacular but eh whatever 
> 
> I'll catch y'all some time after Chinese New Year most likely so good luck to anybody starting their next semester soon (one more then im trash w/ a BSc yaaaaaaaas) 
> 
> This week's recipes brought to you by this post: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/155255386958/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-4


	5. Week 5: Dessert Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recipe list available here: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/160741804573/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to quickly apologise for this taking so long, I didn't realise how much work I would have to do AFTER finishing my thesis (my expert knowledge of AMPK has now left my brain). I thought it would be the mental exhaustion that hit me first but nope, turns out I caught the flu before finals and I've spent the last two weeks recuperating. Finally got around to finishing this chapter, and hopefully the others will come soon... It took me the best part of the last two days to re-read the last few chapters and make minor grammar edits so that everything reads a little more smoothly 
> 
> In other news, I got day drunk and a waiter gave me a free box of chocolates, I've learned to put in contact lenses, and I handed the reins of my society over to the new kids. I'm in the process of sorting out a flat for my master's and it's been raining pleasantly all day - so without further ado here is chapter 5

“It’s week 5 in the bake off tent, and things are cooling down. We’re putting the pans on a low simmer and firing up the ice machines – it’s dessert week.”

*****

Will sat in the make-up tent, bright lights surrounding the mirror adding to his headache as the technical assistant dabbed concealer on his fading purple bruises. After Hannibal and Anthony had found him lying unconscious on the hotel steps he had been driven straight to the hospital. The judge was diagnosed with a concussion and then held for observation overnight to ensure the swelling died down sufficiently. When Will returned to his hotel, Hannibal had insisted on staying with him for a further 24 hours – something about preventing a brain bleed. A few days had passed since the attack but the headaches still came and went, the blurry vision worse with the combination of restless nights and bad dreams.

Will was self-medicating with paracetamol and icepacks, though most of the pain had subsided. There was still the matter of a dark bruise around his eye, which was promptly being covered up by some heavy-duty camera make-up.

There was a knock on the door.

“Will.”

The man turned to see Hannibal standing in the doorway, looking tense. The bruises had only been partly covered and in the harsh light Will was looking worse for wear. The light really highlighted the broken blood vessels. He waved away the assistant, asking her to give him a break. She nodded and quietly left the room.

“How do you feel?”

Will grimaced. “I’m sure you can imagine how I feel. I hope your psychology practise isn’t this lazy, doctor.” At this, Hannibal smirked. He took a step into the room, leaning down to glance closer at the blotches yellowing across the baker’s face. He gently gripped Will by the chin, tilting it upwards. He turned it side to side, looking at various angles. Will winced, the motion pulling at his taut and bruised muscles that were scattered across his torso.

The close inspection added a flush to Will’s patchy, jaundiced cheeks. Clearly there were still a lot of touch-ups to be done when the assistant came back. He looked away sharply, pulling his face from Hannibal’s grip, gasping at the subsequent sharp pain that ran down his spine.

The baker wiped his fingertips on a piece of stray tissue, streaks of concealer left behind. “At least nothing was broken. Do the police have any leads?” Will shrugged. When he had woken up in the hospital, he couldn’t remember much more than the pain. Jack had even stopped by to ask him some questions to try and jog his memory, but to no avail. He was still wearing some bandages under his shirt for support, but mostly as a reminder to not push himself too much.

The memory of being hit with a rolling pin, of all things, made him laugh bitterly.

Will clenched his jaw. “The station received some letters recently, suggesting I should be careful. I guess somebody made good on their threat.” He looked off to the side, eyes unfocussed. He noticed Hannibal’s hand twitch in his peripheral vision. “It’s not your fault, Hannibal.”

“You know it certainly is not yours, either, Will.”

“But there was nothing you could have done. You didn’t know. Hell, you and Anthony probably found me before it coulda been a lot worse.”

*****

“Bakers, this is a challenge of no trifling sort.”

“That’s a lie, it is _exactly_ a challenge of the trifling sort – it’s a trifle challenge. We’re asking for a trifle. Surprise. This week, we want a wonderfully fruity trifle; gluttonous and absolutely decadent. Normally we like to judge a good pud the day it’s made, however, because trifles are, like revenge, a dish best served cold, we’re letting you leave it in the fridge overnight.”

“So guys, you have 3 hours on the clock to make your trifle – and we’ll be back to taste them tomorrow.”

“On your marks, get set—”

“BAKE.”

The two presenters made their way across to the benches where the contestants were making themselves busy. They stopped in front of Bedelia. “Bedelia, you have a nice bottle of Cointreau sitting on your bench there... Is this inspiration or is this included in the dessert?” Price wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s for the dessert, yes. This recipe is a du Maurier family birthday tradition – kids birthdays have it filled with sweets and chocolate, but for the adults it’s more palatable with sherry, brandy or Cointreau.”

“It’s not very hard to make a trifle, but it’s hard to make a memorable one. Although I guess it depends how much Cointreau you put in that thing.”

“Adding the overnight element to the bake makes this a particularly stressful event – we’re not letting them check on their trifles throughout the night, so they’ll have to put their faith in the fridges.”

“Anthony, how about you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact I guess I’m putting myself in league with Bedelia over there – my trifle also includes Cointreau. I’m using my favourite summer fruits – oranges and rhubarb.”

 “You know rhubarb isn’t a fruit, though.” Will grinned snidely.

Anthony glanced at the judge, nodded his head to the side and continued, “I really like the way the two bring out the flavours of the other. Both have a good zing in them.” He picked up a knife and started slicing up the rhubarb. “It’s all just semantics.”

Jack had already made a start on his caramel, the syrupy liquid beginning to brown in a pan on the hob. Alana breathed the smell in deeply, and Will kept walking. “Caramel and apple, huh?”

“Yep. It reminds me of Halloween, and I love a good trifle.” Jack promptly walked away from the judge, ignoring any further questions Alana had. She looked at the camera crew, shrugged her shoulders and moved on.

“I’m challenging myself today with a coconut, raspberry and lemon meringue trifle,” Margot told the judges. “I have to first cook the ladyfingers, then make a lemon curd, a raspberry glaze and a custard.”

“Making it difficult for yourself?”

“I figured up until now I had been playing it pretty safe, so now I want to challenge myself and prove my worth. I _deserve_ to be here, and I’m going to prove that with my bake.” Her head shot up from the middle of her ingredient pile. “Oh yeah, macaroons, too.”

Will and Alana shared a look of worry – Margot was certainly piling on the workload. They left her be and moved on to Francis, who was cleaning out some glasses.

“What are the glasses for, Francis?”

“I prefer personal desserts to scooping out a chunk for everybody.” Will agreed, but Alana looked sceptical.

“So you realise you have to make 6 perfect desserts, right?” Francis nodded.

“I’m combining crumble and trifle into one pudding. Blackberry and apple.” Will stood silently – this was the most forthcoming he had heard Francis in a while. The man went on his way, shaking his head side to side. If Will wasn’t imagining it, he would have said Francis looked almost... happy?

It was slightly disconcerting.

“Saving the best for last, Hannibal? Want to tell us about your trifle?” Alana beamed.

Hannibal was weighing out the ingredients for his spongey base. Beside him was a rather large pile of passionfruit, and a small bottle of ginger wine. “Hello, Alana. Will.” He paused, putting down the glass jar full of flour. “I am constructing a sort of passionfruit and ginger trifle – normally you can just buy a sponge or some madeleines from the bakers, but that would not be in the spirit of the bake off. I am baking my own madeleines,” he picked up the flour and continued to measure it. “It’s such a summer dessert, and I really appreciate the mix of the ginger wine and the passionfruit. It’s heavenly.”

With that, the two judges had a last brief run-around of the contestants before sauntering off. The camera crew were still going to be right in the faces of the bakers, but they could leave all the social commentary to Price and Zeller.

After the three hours were up, the bakers left their rather hefty bowls of trifles in the fridges, closed the doors, and moved on to their next challenge.

*****

“Did you read Freddie’s article in the paper, though?”

“I can’t believe they let her print that shit.”

“She’s promised another exposé by the end of the week, but she only has these lame telephoto lens shots of the outside of the tent.”

“I guess the studio was right to hire more security, and find a less shielded spot for the tent this year. She can’t get close enough to the action without being spotted.”

Will approached the cameramen loitering around the coffee dispenser. He reached between two people to grab a plastic cup (they had given up on mugs, nobody seemed to be capable of using a sponge…) There was a sudden hush, as Will poured himself a coffee. He felt the atmosphere blanket him, and realised the men had all stopped talking as soon as he had approached. “Any idea who’s feeding her information?” He asked them.

A few of the men looked at each other. Their glances shifted, and Will could tell he had made them feel uncomfortable. It was a feeling he was used to. The current consensus was that somebody INSIDE the tent had been selling on information – they had to have been close enough to the judges to be able to discuss relationships on set. Unfortunately, that left a bit of a rift between members of the production crew.

Those working behind the scenes had the sort of bond that they would never suspect each other of selling out, and therefore it must have been either a contestant or a judge. Likewise, the contestants all swore that they had not spoken to any member of the press.

It was all becoming a huge headache.

One of the men finally spoke up. “I’ve heard the exec’s think it was Chilton.”

Will blanched. “What?”

“It’s just something I overheard. Apparently, he was a bit peeved that he was getting the short end of the stick, and the bookies bet on him to leave every week. He was the nation’s favourite scapegoat.”

The men threw their cups into the bin, and meandered back to their equipment. They had to run through their checks before they could start shooting again. Will took his cup outside, feeling the sun on his skin. He checked his phone for any missed calls. Miriam was still on his tail, checking up on him every few hours to make sure he hadn’t gotten into any more trouble.

Two voicemails.

Graham put the phone to his ear, and heard the tone dial out.

“Hey, hi Will. It’s Anthony. I guess you don’t get much signal in this field either. Listen, I saw the newspaper headline, and I figured you might get worried about it, but if anything comes out I just want you to know that I can deal with whatever is thrown at me. Let me know if you need some drinks and dessert later. Bye!”  

“Hey, Will. Guess who. Just wanted to give you a heads up that if you have anything you want to put on the record with me before I release my next article, you have my number. Catch you later, Graham.”

*****

Price and Zeller addressed the bakers from the front of the tent, standing in their usual positions. “So, bakers! I hope you don’t worry about your trifles so much – nothing you can do now but bake.”

Zeller nodded emphatically, “So, without much ado, Will and Alana would like you to present to them three cheesecakes.”

“We want them delicious, tiered, and perfect.” Jimmy Price clasped his hands together. “You have plenty time, a whole three and a half hours, and you can choose whether you want to your cheesecakes or not.”

“On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“BAKE.”

*****

Will approached Francis first. The man still gave him a weird vibe, so he figured get the most awkward one out of the way first. He had a huge array of chocolate bars spread across his bench, and was unwrapping them and weighing out each one.

“Well this looks like a dream,” Will said, “Like a kid in a candy store.”

“Mm.”

There was an awkward pause. “So, are these all going into each cheesecake or are we getting three different layers?”

“Yeah, three layers. Snickers. Mars bars. Honeycomb.” Will didn’t understand this man. He just couldn’t get a read on him. Something still seemed off, and Will felt a shiver run down the back of his neck.

Alana sauntered up to Bedelia’s bench, where the woman was pouring over her recipe list. “Bedelia, what treats are you gonna give us?”

Bedelia looked up from her recipe, smirking. “How do you feel about a little bit of indulgence?”

“Hit me.” There was an awkward pause as Alana looked at Will, realising what she had just said. A beat passed and Bedelia jumped in to save her.

“Alright; all three layers are going to be quite thin, because of the sweetness. First, a devil’s food cheesecake, followed by a layer of chocolate mint cheesecake, and finally at the bottom an Irish cream one.” The blonde spread her arms out, indicating all the ingredients before her.

“Wow, that sounds so good I might have to make a phone call to my dentist.”

Will and Alana made their way to Jack, who was smashing up some biscuits and pouring them into the blender. “So, what exotic cheesecakes are you going to bake for us today?” Will teased.

“White, milk and dark chocolate cheesecakes. Three tiers, each one different.” Will raised his eyebrows a little – it wasn’t exactly a bold choice but he had to admit the fact that Jack was making three DIFFERENT tiers was at least an improvement. “I’m going for a small dark chocolate one at the top and a large white one at the base.”

Alana perked up, “I really love white chocolate. Is it a family recipe?”

“Yeah, my wife’s.” Jack smiled ruefully. “I’m also going to try and make a nice chocolate glaze for each one.”

Alana smiled, nodding. “Well, I am looking forward to it. Try not to break the table smashing up those biscuits though.” She added.

Will passed by Bedelia and moved over to talk to Margot, while Alana went to see Hannibal. Margot was whisking Philadelphia, sugar and cream together with an electric whisk in one hand while stirring a pot of melting white chocolate with the other. There was a punnet of half chopped strawberries sitting off to the side, and some raspberries and blueberries beside them.

“Summer fruits?” Will asked.

“Something like that, yeah.” Margot put down the beater and lifted the bowl of white chocolate. “Next up, I’m gonna make some jam.”

Will was impressed. “You’ve got a lot of multitasking going on here, I assume you’ll be waiting til the last minute to add your toppings?”

Margot nodded. “Yeah, I don’t want them to sink too far into the cream cheese.”

“Hey, Hannibal.” Alana breathed in the smell of the boiling fruit. Hannibal was heating up a pan with apple, orange, whisky and honey in it. “Wow, what’s this?”

“An apple, orange and whisky cheesecake. I decided that rather than making three cheesecakes with singular flavours, I would combine the flavours and just produce three cheesecakes.”

“You better watch your time then, especially if you’re making a large cake. It’ll need a long time to chill.”

Hannibal grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, Alana. Everything is under control.”

The two judges palled up, and finished their rounds at Dimmond’s bench. “Anthony. Such an interesting group of ingredients, what have we got here?”

Anthony picked up a lime, “I’m using key limes, some coconut milk, and what is possibly the biggest jar of Nutella I could find.” He swapped the limes for a jar. “It probably weighs more than my head.”

“Interesting,” Will rubbed his chin, “Are you combining all three or do we get the three in separate layers?”

“Separate layers. I figured that way you can regulate how much of each one you want. The limes are quite acidic so you can combine that with the more mellow coconut or Nutella flavours.”

Alana pursed her lips, “So why are you choosing key limes then, if they’re so acidic? Why not Persian limes?”

Anthony shrugged. “Personal choice, I guess. I like the acidity.”

The judges left the bakers to continue baking, and sat down on a table at the far end of the tent. They could see Jimmy and Brian running in between all the contestants, poking their fingers in mixtures and knocking over bowls. Alana laughed, and Will got up to make a coffee. Staying awake for the rest of the day was going to be a challenge, and he swallowed another dose of painkillers.

*****

“Bakers, that is time up on your cheesecakes.”

Everybody took a step back from their bench. There was a last-minute throwing of toppings on one or two of the cakes before stopping in their tracks. Brian and Jimmy were glaring at Margot, who was still trying to throw one or two blueberries on top of the smallest tier.

“When you’re ready, I think we’ll taste Hannibal’s bake first.” The doctor brought his cheesecake tiers to the gingham altar. “So you’ve made the same flavour in each layer, yes? Was it the same mixture or different ones?”

“I used different ratios in each layer, so the top one has more whisky, the middle more apple, and the bottom more orange.” The judges sliced through the layers, stopping to have a bite out of each one.

Will paused, putting his spoon down. “I mean, it’s good – don’t get me wrong – but I can’t tell that you’ve changed the ratios in each layer. I’m getting a good hit of whisky in each one but further than that, nothing is different between the cakes.”

Anthony’s combination of lime, coconut and Nutella was divine, but the acidity of the lime was too sharp and left the cheesecake tasting bitter. Bedelia’s chocolate-loaded desserts were sinful, absolutely full of flavour. Margot’s berry cheesecakes were tart and packed a punch.

Jack’s three tiers were presented next. Alana looked impressed. “I’m so glad you made the smallest one the dark chocolate – don’t get me wrong, dark chocolate is fantastic, but I can’t stomach it in huge quantities.”

Will dug a fork into the bottom layer. “Your white chocolate filling isn’t too sweet, which is great. The real mistake in cheesecakes, in my opinion, is making them so sweet that they taste sickly and you can’t have more than a small slice.” Alana agreed, nodding as she went in for a taste of the milk chocolate layer.

“Oh yeah, I mean, I know you seem to only go for the simple bakes but, to be honest, it’s working in your favour right now. That is a classic and it…” Alana paused. “Has that got chocolate chips in it?”

Jack shrugged, “I just wanted to add something different.”

Francis presented his cheesecakes to the judges last. He pointed to each layer, indicating which was the honeycomb layer, the Snickers layer, and the Malteaser layer. Testing each one in turn, both judges agreed that he needed a little longer for his cheesecake to be properly set – however, every layer was better than the one before it and he had definitely made something to be proud of.

*****

The bakers returned to the hotel for the night. They would film the showstopper challenge tomorrow, but for now it was time to eat a good meal and rest up. Will had had to give up his car in favour of being driven around, as he still felt winded and his reaction times were still not ideal. Fortunately, Alana had offered to drive him back to the hotel. She helped Will to a seat at a small table near the bar, sat and enjoyed dinner together, and promptly made her leave. It had been nice to catch up with his friend but Will’s patience was starting to wear thin. He was getting tired and irritable.

Will sighed and sunk into his chair. The painkillers he had taken before they left the tent had worn off half way through dinner and he was now starting to feel the numbing ache in his bones. The judge struggled to pull himself out of his seat and wobbled to his feet. The day had really taken its toll on him. Head down, Will pushed himself towards the elevator to take him to his floor.

As he waited for the lift to arrive, Will leaned against the wall for support. The bell dinged and the doors slid open, as the judge practically fell into the carriage. He held on to the hand rail, steadying himself. As he looked up to choose his floor, Hannibal climbed in beside him.

The judge sighed.

“Going my way?” Hannibal asked.

The two men rode the lift in companionable silence. When the doors opened again, Will swayed as he tried to get off. Hannibal held on to his shoulder, grounding him a little, but still he petered. Hannibal caught him, pulling him close to steady his balance.

“Woah, there. I’ve got you.”

Will tried to pull away, turning his shoulders, but the strength left him. He sagged forward into Hannibal. “I’m sorry…” He murmured into the man’s tie. “I just need to lie down for a bit.”

Hannibal stood in the hallway for a few minutes, holding onto Will. He wrapped his arms further round the judge, gently resting his chin on Will’s head. He could hear the judge’s breathing slow down, almost to a whisper, as Hannibal looked down to make sure the man had not fallen asleep. He shook Will gently, and asked him for his key card.

Will pawed at his front pocket, slipping the card out and waving it haphazardly in the air as Hannibal attempted to grab it. He smiled, and waddled the two of them to Will’s door. Putting the key card in the swipe machine, Hannibal unlocked the door with a quiet click. He shuffled the two men towards the bed, and gently helped Will lie down.

“You need a glass of water?”

Will nodded, throwing his hand up in the direction of the small sink, and Hannibal filled a glass. He handed it to Will, and passed him the box of painkillers sitting on the bedside table. The judge rose slightly to drink from the glass, emptied it, and lay back down with a thump.

“God, I hope those kick in fast. I really needed that.” He looked over to Hannibal, smiled briefly and turned away so he could shuffle himself further up the bed to the pillows. Somehow the headrest seemed so far away and yet the bed felt too small. He placed the glass down on the table, and sunk back into his pillow. “Thank you, Hannibal,” he whispered. “For everything.”

*****

Will and Alana entered the tent, the bakers all sitting nervously on stools before them. They had been forbidden to open the fridges and look at their trifles since yesterday, and it wasn’t hard to see the tension fraying each of their nerves.

Bedelia pulled out her Cointreau trifle first, presenting it to the judges. The strawberries were layered beautifully, across the sponge. Pulling out a spoonful of jelly, both judges wobbled their hands.

“Yep, looks like a good jelly, Bedelia. You also have a really nice custard; the Cointreau gives it that little bit of a hit.”

Jimmy looked over to the rest of the bakers. “Well, might as well stick with the theme and continue testing the Cointreau – Anthony, if you would be so kind?”

The custard had seeped all the way through the layers of the sponge and the fruit compote, resulting in a bit of an untidy finish. “Obviously, we can’t just judge it based on looks but you don’t seem to have the tightest of fillings there,” Will grinned, “some of that custard has just dripped right down the cracks.”

Alana pulled out a huge lump, and spooned it onto a plate. Zeller and Price attacked at it first, without being prompted, and soured their faces. “Jesus!” “That’s tart!”

Anthony looked worried as Will tasted it, and he, followed by Alana, both pursed their lips. “It’s, well, uhm…” Alana began. “I think you might have added too much alcohol. I’m not sure if I had any more of that I would be able to pass a breathalyser!”

“It’s certainly soaked through into the fruit. And the sponge. And somehow also into the custard,” Will added. “It’s very… I guess, ‘marinated’ is the best description? You might want to rework the recipe you used if you don’t want to give anybody alcohol poisoning.”

Anthony lifted his trifle and put it back in the fridge, giving it a sniff as he went. He physically recoiled, and the other bakers in the tent stifled a giggle. Clearly something had gone wrong with his measurements.

Jack presented his caramel and apple trifle next, which was visually lacking but Will appreciated the taste nonetheless. The lemon and raspberry in Margot’s trifle was spectacular, though the coconut was completely overpowered by the citrus. “I love your macaroons, Margot. You really pulled through,” Will added, “and your ladyfingers are almost perfect.”

Hannibal presented his ginger and passionfruit trifle. Alana’s eyes shined, shaking his hand and asking him if he would write the recipe down for her. Will shovelled it into his mouth and told him it could do with more passionfruit. “The madeleines are pretty good, though.” The doctor looked satisfied, and sat back down at his bench.

Finally, Francis brought his individual desserts to the fore. “You know we have to test a couple of these, right? Make sure you’re not hiding a bad one in the middle of the batch,” Alana teased. Francis looked at her, then averted his eyes. If Will were a betting man he would’ve put money on the fact that he thought he saw Dolarhyde blushing… But in an instant it was gone again. They tucked in.

“I absolutely love this. The blackberry and apple just combine so powerfully, and the texture of the crumble is beautiful.” Will licked his spoon clean.

“I don’t know what biscuits you used for that crumble but it really works!” added Alana.

The bakers all breathed a sigh of relief, as the crew switched off the cameras and turned down the lights for a short lunch break. The bakers would be attempting their showstoppers next, but all the ingredients had to be set up and so the production team began to hurry about. In the loud throng, Will located the nearest stool and perched on it. He was still exhausted and needed to spend another three days in bed, but all he had to do first was get through today. That seemed feasible. Make another short appearance, introduce the task, have a quick chat with Alana on the patio outside, then he could lie down for a while. Somebody would wake him up when he was needed to judge the bakes.

*****

“The next challenge, provided you’ve all survived with enough energy and nerve to continue, is a hard one.”

“It’s something that, either you can do it well – or you can’t.”

“In our case, we definitely can’t.”

“Correct! However, we are willing to eat any leftovers.”

“Alana and Will would like you to make them a meringue. But not just any meringue – one of a showstopping variety.”

“Make anything you want, just make sure that you’ve included meringue.”

“You have 4 generous hours for this challenge, so on your marks!”

“Get set!”

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE.”

*****

Will had left Alana, Jimmy and Brian to introduce the task. He wasn’t feeling up to it, still a little lightheaded from standing and tasting all the bakes earlier that morning. The crew set up a small corner of the tent with a few cushioned stools and some noise-blocking headphones for him. He lay down for the entire course of the bake, occasionally opening his eyes to watch the ensuing chaos as the bakers tried to sidestep around both each other and also Brian and Jimmy. It was almost comical to watch without the buzzing in his ears.

He saw the “10 minutes to go, bakers,” mark, and slowly began to sit up. Will felt a lot better, but he knew he would need to avoid anything strenuous for the next week. At least he had an excuse to avoid any unpleasant conversations.

Alana helped him across to the gingham altar, and Price led the first baker to them. “Jack, what have you got for us here?”

“It’s a strawberry pavlova.”

“Classic, summer dessert there, Jack.” Alana nodded approvingly. “It looks light and fluffy, and you have a good amount of filling.”

Will took a bite. “It would’ve been nicer if you had sieved the strawberry pips out of your sauce, but I suppose that’s a personal preference.”

Francis presented his hazelnut tiramisu. It was surprisingly good, but Alana wanted more hazelnut flavour. Likewise, Bedelia’s mocha mousse coffee meringue was also weak.

“I’m surprised, coffee and mocha are hard to get wrong – I can taste the mocha but the coffee is really not there at all.” Will looked puzzled. “Did you remember to add it?”

Bedelia looked away, frowning. “Uhm. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I didn’t add it.”

Hannibal had combined a tiramisu and a pavlova, creating a so-called ‘tiramilova’. Though Will wasn’t a huge fan of the idea, Alana convinced him that uniqueness was a good thing to help him stand out and be memorable.

Marot showed them her cherry chocolate pavlova, which had the added difficulty of being a brown meringue. “You did really well not to burn this, actually.” Will admitted. “Not only that, the flavour is great. The texture is great, you mixed the sugar in perfectly.”

“You even hand-made the cherry compote, which was superb. It’s so fresh.”

Lastly, Anthony brought his chocolate and hazelnut dacquoise to the table. The meringue was covered by a surprising amount of chocolate ganache. As the judges sliced into the dessert, they realised why.

“It’s overcooked,” Will exclaimed. Anthony tilted his head down, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“That’s a real shame, that is.”

“Yeah…”

*****

The judges and the presenters stepped back into the tent. The bakers were sitting in a small arch, their aprons still on and covered in egg, chocolate, and splashes of a whole number of unidentifiable ingredients.

“Bakers. Firstly, I want to congratulate you all. You’ve made it almost half way through the competition now, and that’s a real achievement. With that,” Zeller stepped forward, “It is my pleasure to announce our star baker this week. This person wowed us with her trifle, gave Mary Berry a run for her money with her berry cheesecake, and hit it out of the park with her showstopping cherry chocolate meringue. Well done, Margot!”

The bakers applauded, smiling and whispering “good job!” to Margot, while bracing themselves for the worst news to come.

Jimmy Price stepped up to the plate. “As you all know, where one person has done extraordinarily well, the other side of the spectrum is also pointed out. Sad as it is to say, and I’m sorry I’ll miss your perfect hair and fantastic teeth, this week the person leaving us is Anthony.”

Zeller and Price walked towards the bakers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Anthony replied, “I knew my time had come when I overcooked that meringue.” He shrugged his shoulders, and the bakers surrounded him in a large group hug. “I have had a wonderful time, here.”

Will joined in the fray, giving Anthony a clap on the back before being pulled into a hug. Alana congratulated Margot, and the cameramen moved outside the tent to talk to each baker individually.

*****

As Will approached Price and Zeller at the end of the day, he could see them talking in a hushed whisper and they were acting furtively. Unfortunately for them, the tent was practically empty and the secretive gestures instead drew attention to them. Most of the crew had given up for the night, heading to bed before the early start at the weekend.

“What’s going on, guys?” He butted in.

Price and Zeller jumped, turning slowly to face the man.

Price spoke first. “Oh, hey, Will. The producers just gave us a warning about talking to the press. Apparently, Freddie Lounds is still hounding some of the ex-contestants about gossip from their time in the tent.”

Will exhaled. “Yeah, I take it you read the story, too?” The presenters exchanged confused glances, looking at the judge with questions clear across their face.

“Freddie Lounds spread rumours of nepotism underhand dealings in the tent – apparently one of us judges is looking out for a contestant by swaying things in their favour, in return for other kinds of… ‘favours.’” Will cocked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. It was all becoming such a pain.

“I just really hope one of the lawyers sticks it to Chilton. Surely he’s in breach of his contract.”

“W-what?! Chilton?” Price exclaimed. “Why him?”

“Well, I mean, isn’t it obvious? He was eliminated the day before the story broke, and I wasn’t exactly his biggest fan. He knew that.” Will looked out the window of the tent, not really focussing on anything. He thought he could see some dandelions growing in the distance. “Now he’s trying to fuck me over. I spoke to some of the camera crew before, who told me that’s the current rumour going round.”

Zeller turned a shade of pale, which quickly deepened into a dark blush as he began to speak. “Actually… I don’t think it was Chilton.”

He paused, pursing his lips as if he wanted to leave it there and say nothing more. Jimmy Price nudged him with his elbow, encouraging him to keep talking.

“I think it’s my fault,” he continued, “I think Freddie got the information from me.” He buried his face in his hands, hunching his shoulders. He turned to Price, and added, “You remember that date I went on a few weeks ago?”

“…You went on a date with _Lounds_?”

Brian nodded meekly.

Frustration brimming, Will jumped in. “You leaked stories to the tabloids?!” He held his tongue, realising they were still in a public place – even if most of the people in the room also worked on the show, Will couldn’t be sure who might decide to line their pockets.

“No!! I swear, it’s not like that! I told her it all had to be off the record, I haven’t even seen her since that story broke, she took everything totally out of context!” Will could sense the regret, but couldn’t hold much blame to him. He knew how tricky Freddie could be.

“Should we be prepared for any more surprises? Anything else you told her that might be misconstrued? I swear, if Miriam makes me go on breakfast TV again to try and smooth over all the damage…” Will trailed off, remembering the last time he had dealt with the breakfast TV presenters – they all wanted to hear about his career and how he had gotten to where he was today. Putting on a social persona after waking at 4am had not been his ideal interview slot, but breakfast show ratings peaked higher than any other time of day. And Miriam always told him his personality was lost on radio – his brash nature needed to be balanced out by his “striking” looks.

He was pretty sure she just said that to soothe his ego: the rate he was paid to do TV appearances was much higher than for radio. Not that that meant much to Will Graham, but Miriam Lass earned her share of the profits.

“No, I promise. Anything else she writes is either twisted rumour or she got it from somewhere else.” Zeller hung his head again, murmuring a quiet apology before plodding out of the tent.

Price sighed loudly. “You think the lawyers can stick her for a slander and libel action suit?”

Shaking his head, Will blinked. “You think they haven’t tried that one before?”

“Good point.”

“I guess we just have to wait and see, huh? She said she would release an updated interview article by the end of the week…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 will probably take me like a month to write (I'm sorry) but it's been so long since I wrote anything without terminology and references that it's hard to get back into the swing of things so I'm a little slow right now


	6. Week 6: Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continued dramatic adventures of Will "The Grump" Graham and Hannibal "I'm putting people in the fucking food, Will" Lecter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, moving flat and finishing my degree and going on holiday and trying to earn a little bit of money to tide me over until next semester starts got a bit ahead of me. I'm currently trying to finish the rest of this fic for uploading soon, but I'm hella demotivated and basically distracted by things like sewing curtains for no real reason and playing minecraft. 
> 
> After this one there are only two chapters left, so hopefully those will be ready soon enough - just gotta let them proof!

A shrill ringing woke Will. The sun was bleeding through the hotel curtains he had forgotten to shut the previous night, and groggily he reached out to slam a hand on the bedside table. He barely even looked at the caller ID – answering it with a gruff “What.”

It was Alana. “Will, have you seen Freddie’s latest run?”

Will scrubbed his eyes with the ball of his hand, dislodging the sleep crystals and trying to focus his bleary vision. “Her what?” He sighed, heavily. “What shit is she spouting now?”

The line went fuzzy for a moment as he heard Alana shuffling what he assumed was a newspaper. “The front-page boasts about an interview she did with Frederick Chilton, stating that an ‘inside source reveals salacious, clandestine relationship between a judge and a contestant,’” she fumed.

His blood ran cold. A judge and a contestant? Surely not. Chilton was bug-eyed, but Will could’ve sworn that he had never been around when Anthony, Hannibal and he had been social.

…More than social.

He was about to ask Alana for further details when she interrupted his train of thought.

“She wrote a whole article – entirely based on Frederick’s accusations – that _I_ had been making googly eyes at Margot and it was clouding my bias.” Will rolled over, swapping the phone to his other ear. He scrubbed his face with the other hand, trying to wake up.

“Do you want to bring the newspaper here and show me? I’m not awake yet and I don’t want to have to deal with bumping into anybody in the hallway…” Will asked her. Alana hung up and told him she would be right there.

Climbing out of bed, Will reached for the shirt he had taken off and thrown on the floor in the middle of the night. It was old and grey, and he only looked semi-presentable in his flannel boxers, but he was sure Alana wouldn’t mind. They had been friends for so long that they had both seen each other looking rather worse for wear.

A sharp rapping came from the door to his room, and he opened it to find Alana in her dressing gown and slippers with a rolled-up newspaper. She had the look of somebody about to make a very stupid decision. He waved her in, and she threw herself down on his unmade bed.

“Here, take it and read for yourself. Page 4.”

Will accepted the rag, flipping it open, and sat down on a chair to read the offensive article. Chilton had detailed several times Margot and Alana had been flirting around each other inside the tent, as well as outside of filming. Freddy Lounds had even included a few grainy photos taken by a telephoto lens of Alana and Margot getting into the same car to leave the tent, and eating dinner with each other at the crew hotel. Feeling more awake, Will suddenly felt a rush of relief flood through him – he was worried it was going to be a scandal involving him, and he really didn’t think his constitution could handle it.

His agent also might not have let him live it down, and sent him off into seclusion for a while before another scandal could take over the headlines. Will folded the newspaper up and placed it down on the small table in his room.

“What do you want to do?” He asked, breathing out heavily through his nose.

Alana leaned forward, resting her chin in the cup of her hands. She looked over at her friend and colleague, and Will suddenly felt guilty. He shouldn’t be so selfish, grateful the article left him in the clear when his friend was being dragged through the mud. She explained that her phone had been bleeping all morning with reporters calling to ask her for a response to the article, so she had left it in her room.

“More than anything, I’m not sure how to explain it all to Margot.” Alana stretched backwards and lay down on Will’s bed, a soft ‘pfft’ coming from the duvet as she landed on it. “I knew we weren’t being subtle but I thought we could at least keep our private lives private, you know?” Will grumbled a quiet noise of acquiescence. “I swear, I gave her no advantage. Besides, half of the decisions are up to you, Will. I can’t sway your opinion – even Freddie Lounds must know that!”

Will glanced down at the other stories on the double-page spread, and noted a small article referring to his recent fisticuffs with an unknown assailant. The police were still searching for the man, however, Will had been a rather unreliable witness and couldn’t provide much of a description. The secluded nature of the hotel also aided in the culprit’s anonymity, and no witnesses had come forward to volunteer information.

They both hid in Will’s room for almost an hour, trying to decide on the best course of action. Alana explained to him that she and Margot had just hit it off one night, bumping into each other in the sauna of the hotel. It hadn’t been serious, but as time went on they realised how well they fitted together. Graham couldn’t decide if he should bare his soul to Alana, coming clean on his particular screw-ups or not. Realising there was nothing _else_ he could do to help the situation, he told Alana about his dinners with Anthony and Hannibal, and where those had led to. He could tell it had helped Alana somewhat, but still left her with a feeling of uneasiness.

“Right, well, I guess I better go make a call to my lawyer about filling a harassment suit or something. I can at least publicly file some sort of defamation claim – everybody knows the sort of trash that Freddie Lounds represents, maybe I can minimise the damage.” Alana stood up and hugged Will, before leaving to face her fate.

*****

Will jumped in his car and drove half an hour into the countryside, taking a winding route to the nearest forest. He had a few punnets of raspberries and a bushel of strawberries sitting in the back seat, next to a cooler holding some Devon custard and a block of locally made ice cream. It was shortly after lunch, so the air was warm, but the cooler kept the contents relatively chilled.

He pulled into a small clearing, and looked over at the two men setting up by the wooden picnic bench. He let out a hefty sigh.

Hannibal and Anthony were pulling various snacks and desserts out of cold bags, placing them on the gingham tablecloth. It was almost laughable – three grown men eating delicate desserts at a picnic bench in the middle of the countryside. Will lugged his coolers over to the bench and grabbed a bowl.

As the three men helped themselves to the sweet treats, Anthony piped up. “You look rather glum, Will. Anything wrong?”

Will put his spoon down in his bowl, mixing the meringue with the brown sugar and raspberry coulis unconsciously. “Did you guys read the newspapers this morning?”

“The one that was calling out Alana and Margot? Yeah, I saw it.” Anthony replied. “Not in great taste, but what can you expect from a gossip rag?”

“I just… I feel like this needs to stop.” Will waved his free hand across the food placed on the picnic bench. “All of this. Whatever this is.”

Hannibal rested his spoon, too, sitting back on the bench. He was dressed in a light cotton shirt, with a smart tie and rolled up shirtsleeves. If Will hadn’t sunk his teeth into all that food, he would probably be tempted by something else.

“You think this looks unfavourable towards yourself? You were barely mentioned in the article I read.”

“It’s not so much about what _was_ said, but moreso what _could be_ said. There’s a fine line between libel and slander and Freddie Lounds balances it every day.” Will groaned. “All it takes is the suggestion of something – however small – and the public runs riot. Rumours are always interesting, even if there is no foundation; how can Joe Public disprove something they read?”

Anthony shrugged. He scratched his neck, pulling away the shirt collar from his neck. The warm spring air was full of pollen and his allergies were acting up. “If you feel uncomfortable, Will, then I respect your wishes.” He turned to Hannibal, who was sitting next to him. “How about you?”

The other man nodded, dislodging the sandy hair that had been tucked gracefully behind his ear. It wasn’t immaculate as it was in the tent, and Will got the sense that Hannibal was attempting to appear more relaxed than usual. Something about it didn’t quite sit right with him – it was like seeing an animal in the wrong terrain. He just didn’t quite look comfortable.

After a pregnant pause, Hannibal replied, “I can put things on hold until whatever is going on is resolved.” Adding another spoonful of raspberry splodge to his bowl, he added, “But I have gotten used to the company, and it will be hard to live without it, albeit for however long this may be.”

Suddenly, Anthony yelped.

He leaped off the bench, and bent down to clasp his calf.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I got stung by a bee?”

Hannibal stood up to take a look. “There appears to be a small pockmark, right here.” He pointed to a small, red, pinprick. “It might start to swell, but if you ice it the pain should go away rather quickly.” He lifted a cold pack from the cooler by the bench and passed it to Anthony. “Here.”

“Of all the disasters, I suppose being stung by a bee isn’t the end of the world.” Anthony sat back down, pulling his foot up to rest on the other leg, and balanced the ice pack on top. “Could be worse.”

The three men continued to enjoy the afternoon freely. The sun was high, the sky blue, and the desserts delicious. Will felt content – at least for a little while, it was an escape from the real world.

*****

“This week, Will and Alana would like something simple.”

“Simple is often comfortable when it comes to baking, however, it also implies that there is nowhere to hide when it all goes wrong.”

“This week’s challenge is a perfect, even batch of 24 identical cupcakes. They can be whatever flavour you want, decorated how you want, but they have to be perfect.”

“It’s not going to be easy to hide a mistake, lined up against each other.”

“Alright, bakers. On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“BAAAAAAAKE.”

*****

“So, Francis, what special flavours are you treating us to today?” Alana looked across the bench, spotting the chocolate and expresso packages.

“Chocolate cupcakes, with a mocha filling and icing on top.” He walked away from the judge, picking up a measuring jug and some scales, and busied himself with his recipe. Alana took a quiet step backwards, pursing her lips and wandering off to the next bench.

Will approached Margot’s bench, deciding to play mediator and reduce any tension between her and Alana. Though the show wasn’t broadcast week by week, it would be harder to match up the episode to the particular news articles, but Will still felt it was more appropriate for the women to distance themselves. His agent’s incessant yelling at him to be better at avoiding public outcries had sunk in, finally. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Miriam that, though.

“Margot, how’s it going?”

“I guess it’s fine, Will.” She smiled quietly, dark red lipstick attracting the attention of his wandering eyes. “Just a little tired, this week.”

“Yeah, I understand that. The pressure isn’t letting up, and the heat in the tent is rising, which doesn’t help.” Will was sympathetic. “Anyway, what have you got planned for this bake?”

“I decided I would try and achieve perfection, however, since it’s already week six I needed to up my game. This week I’m making chocolate marble swirl cakes – chocolate and vanilla flavoured.”

Will sighed. “You’re going to make marble cake. In a challenge where we want the bakes to look identical. That’s… Brave.” ‘

That’s dumb,’ is what he had wanted to say. He bit his tongue.

“Yeah, well, gotta take a few risks, right?”

Will shook his head and walked to Alana, who was staring intently at Bedelia’s genoise layered mousse cakes, chopping up hazelnuts and white chocolate. They passed by Jack, who was, as expected, staying strong and true to his basic routes – banoffee cupcakes with a banana-flavoured frosting. At least he had included some originality and technical skill, making a caramel from maple syrup to sandwich the two halves of each cupcake together.

Will caught up with Price, who was shaking his head and laughing at Hannibal. He saw a range of ingredients spread across the bench: not least, carrots, oats and peas. Will paled.

“Oh, god, what am I in for this time? How on earth can you butcher the sanctity of the cupcake?”

He heard a small chuckle.

“My dear judge, I do not know what you are talking about. I am making a cake. A loaf, if you will.”

“Meatloaf? Seriously?” Will all but slapped himself in the face, groaning. “Was a dessert too much to ask for? I’m gonna have to start getting really specific about these challenges…”

Hannibal shrugged, continuing to melt the butter in a pan. “How else would I make a memorable cake if not with a twist?”

*****

The bakers aligned their 24 cupcakes along the gingham. Each was presented in a military fashion, in neat rows so as not to hide any mistakes. Margot’s chocolate marble swirls were all slightly off kilter, as was the nature of the marble cake, though they tasted pleasant enough. Jack’s banoffee cakes were sweet yet light, and the banana was emphasised by the addition of the banana icing on top.

Francis had presented his chocolate ganache cakes with a layer of ganache on the top, and Will was surprised to find the inside had been hollowed out to make a pocket which had been filled with more ganache. It was a pleasant surprise. Bedelia’s mousse cupcakes had been a little overdone, but the flavour from the white chocolate, hazelnut and raspberry was heavenly.

Will picked up one of Hannibal’s meatloaf cupcakes with distain. He wrinkled his nose, bringing it closer to his face before pulling it away again. Alana laughed at him, picking up one of her own. “Come on, Will, don’t be a baby.”

“I just really hate these ‘healthy’ cakes that have vegetables in them. Why? Why taint the cake? What did it ever do to you?”

He swallowed hard and threw the cake in his mouth, chewing grumpily. The cakes had been frosted with mashed potatoes, and he could see peas spotted throughout the mass of the sponge. It was disturbing, to say the least.

“Hm.” Will put down the bitten cake. “I just… Why?”

*****

“Ladies and gentlemen, our technical challenge today comes inspired by the _Gugelhupf_ , but still allows for a little bit of flair.”

“Our judges have requested a Bundt cake, made in whatever flavour tickles your fancy, and we have even provided you with your own Bundt pan.”

“Don’t say we’re not good to you.”

“Anyway, you have 2 hours on the clock, so when you’re ready…”

“On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake.”

*****

The circular cakes lay arranged on the gingham altar, with a helpful label next to them to describe the flavour of each. There was apple and cinnamon, lemon, chocolate and red wine, sweet potato bourbon, and a chocolate ginger Bundt cake.

The two judges sliced into the cakes, one by one, watching the slide of the knife into the sponge. Jack’s lemon Bundt was mouth-watering, with a perfect topping of vanilla icing. It had been drizzled when the cake was sufficiently cool, and had a thickness that resulted in it staying in gloopy layers on top of the Bundt. Hannibal’s Bundt had a little too much wine in it, resulting in a soggier base than optimal.

The chocolate ginger cake Francis had made was a little too rich, and could’ve benefitted from another handful of minutes in the oven – though it looked burnt due to the colouring of the ginger. Bedelia’s sweet potato bourbon Bundt was… questionable. The bourbon and sweet potato meshed well, with a hint of apple juice. Will appreciated the flavours, but Alana was less keen. Margot’s apple and cinnamon Bundt was dense and overcooked, the outside too dark and the fluffiness of the inside lacking.

The judges muttered amongst each other, and placed the cakes from fifth to first; Margot, Hannibal, Bedelia, Francis, and Jack.

*****

“Bakers! Last bake of the day is something a little special.”

“Since the weather outside is so pleasant, we would love you to make us a wonderful summery roll.”

“That’s right, gone are the days of the festive Swiss roll, we want a summer log.”

“Choose your flavours, and choose them wisely, because for somebody in this room it will be their last showstopping bake with us. Without further ado… On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Baaaaaake!”

*****

Once again, Alana and Will mingled among the bakers. It was particularly hot in the tent, and the cream would most likely have issues setting. Jack was finely chopping some chocolate in the corner. Will could see a pile of oranges next to him, and smiled. There was something pleasing about the idea of a chocolate sponge with orange running through the middle – like a Jaffa cake.

Hannibal was busy crafting some sort of caramel, and Margot had begun her efforts in crafting an impressive-looking red velvet mixture.

Alana was asking Bedelia about her raspberry and lemon cake, while Will walked over to Francis.

“Hey, Francis, how’s it going?”

The tall man grunted a rough, “fine,” and continued to weigh out flour in a bowl. Looking at the ingredients, Will sighed.

“What sort of bake are you making today?”

“Tiramisu summer log.”

Will stood, waiting for further explanation. None came.

The judge shook his head and walked away. He was starting to give up on asking Francis anything at all.

*****

Zeller and Price stood beside the gingham-covered altar, waving their hands at it with some sort of jazz hands effort.

“Bakers, present your logs to our resident taste lumberjacks!!”

Will sniggered. “That sounds awful.”

Bedelia presented her raspberry and lemon log, which had the added bonus of raspberries running through the filling. It had cracked slightly and the cake wasn’t very rounded, but the bake was good and the flavours strong. Hannibal’s coffee and caramel log was oozing more cream than was strictly necessary, giving it a terrible presentation score.

Francis brought his tiramisu to the table, and Alana was surprised by the taste. There was something different about it, but she couldn’t place her finger on what it was. Margot’s red velvet cake was crisp, the white chocolate filling not cold enough to set and instead was melting from the heat of the sponge.

“In a surprising turn of events, the baker that is winning the title of Star Baker this week is – Jack! Congratulations!”

“Will was particularly impressed with your chocolate orange log,” Price added, “And I absolutely did not finish it off.”

Zeller elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe don’t hope for there to be much left to eat yourself.”

The bakers applauded Jack, and Will made eye contact. He gave Jack a knowing nod, and received one in response. Will imagined this was what fatherly approval would look like if his dad was still around to see his success.

The tent fell silent and the tension in the air became almost palpable.

“It falls to me this week to announce which of you will be leaving today.”

“As each week passes, it gets harder and harder to say goodbye to one of you. We love you all like our own dear, little, dysfunctional family.”

“I’m afraid that this week, there were just one too many slip-ups for you, Margot.”

Alana and Will wandered over to the group, shaking Jack’s hand and hugging Margot. Alana looked especially bereft, but Will made no comment. It was a sensitive subject.

*****

Will was packing his things back into the car that would give him a lift back to the hotel, when one of the showrunners interrupted him.

“Will, I just got a phone call from the hospital.”

The judge turned around to see a young woman, panting and holding her mobile. “What?”

“They said that paramedics responded to Anthony Dimmond’s place of residence in the early hours of yesterday morning, after he had been complaining about chest pains.”

“WHAT?”

The woman continued. “They said he was in some sort of anaphylactic shock, and they took him to the hospital for observation, but he must have been exposed to a high level of something because he collapsed into a coma.”

Will stood in shock, before quietly thanking the woman and walking calmly back into the tent. He searched through the crew before setting eyes on Hannibal, who was deep in conversation with Bedelia.

“Hannibal.”

“Will! I was just congratulating Bedelia on her wonderf—”

“Anthony collapsed. They said he had an allergic reaction to something and now he’s in a coma.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised slowly as he processed the information. “Allergic reaction?” He stepped away from Bedelia, whispering slightly out of earshot. “Was he allergic to something from our picnic? Do you know what it was?”

“The hospital are still running tests, but they said it was likely something he had eaten in the last 48 hours or so. And in a big enough dose to cause a coma.”

Hannibal pensively put a hand to his chin. He looked up at Will.

“The bee sting.”

“Are you sure?”

“One can never be sure without performing an allergy test, however, that’s the only thing out of the ordinary I can think of.”

Will felt his stomach drop. Every day something sunk him lower and lower, and he wondered if he would ever find some form of stability in his life. The edges of his vision started to go black, and his legs felt weak. He reached out to hold onto Hannibal, before collapsing into the man’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the best part of writing fanfiction is that by the time i go back to read what i wrote i've already forgotten it and i laugh at my own jokes 
> 
> i wrote the last part of this in my regular cafe/wifi hotspot and even though i've not been here in over a month and i've dyed my hair i think the bar tender still recognises me. this chapter is brought to you by eiffel 65's classic "blue" on loop forever
> 
> As always, recipe list is here: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/164021197593/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-6 and if anybody needs me in the next week or so I'm playing Dream Daddy and I have no regrets


	7. Week 7: Free From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bake off semi-final week, and shit is getting real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a PSA to let y'all know that bake off starts back on august 29th and my favourite lesbian goth noel fielding will be hosting it

The week following the traumatic departure of Anthony left Will rather drained. He hadn't known the man long, but he had really enjoyed his companionship. He was starting to wonder if this season was cursed – Beverly dying, Freddie Lounds being, well, Freddie Lounds, and now this. 

It was too much. 

The doctors couldn't work out the exact cause of death – some sort of overactivation of the immune system, resulting in a cardiac attack. They had checked his application to see if Anthony had been allergic to anything, but the box was marked "N/A". 

The judge spent the better part of the next week in a relative seclusion, asking his agent if she would bring his dogs for a visit to the hotel. The hotel didn't allow pets, and even though there was no sign of his attacker, Miriam wouldn't let Will stay at home while he was potentially still at large. 

Will took the dogs into the forest beyond the hotel, enjoying the fresh air and the carefree nature of each pup. Alana heard the dogs and came to see Applesauce – she had always been her favourite. 

The two of them enjoyed a comfortable silence, throwing a stick and watching as the dogs ran to fetch it, then throwing it again upon its return. 

It was Will who finally broke the silence. 

"Do you think this will be our last season?" He asked morosely. 

Alana bent down to ruffle the ears of a tan-coloured dog, sighing. "I think it would be best. There's not much coming back from this, is there?" 

Will shook his head, turning away. Staring into the depths of the forest, searching for something, though for what he wasn't sure. 

He muttered under his breath, wistful. 

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..." 

*****

"Ladies and gentlemen, foodies and gluttons, we are fast approaching the end of the bakers trials and tribulations inside this steamy white tent." 

"That's right, it's the penultimate week and it's time to pull out all the short stops – three of our bakers will make it through to the Grand Final, where one will be crowned Bake Off Champion." 

"Only three tasks stand in their way today between them and that final hurdle." 

"It's time..." 

"...For the Great British Bake Off." 

*****

"For the first challenge of the semi-final, Will and Alana wanted to make things a little more... Difficult." 

"Yes, we've all had that one awkward friend or relative who has the most horrendous repulsion to wheat, gluten, milk, eggs, chocolate, red meat, fun, joy, vegetables..." Price clasped his hands together and sighed. "So today we want you to cater for them." 

"There's nothing worse than planning a fantastic meal only to find out that one of your guests is vehemently against eating an ingredient that you otherwise thought was crucial to the recipe -  so this week is our 'Free From' week." 

"For your first task, we want you to provide us with the best tasting gluten free biscuit you can muster." 

"We want 36 tasty, uniform, gluten free nibbles to sink our teeth into!" 

"You have one snappy hour on the clock, so if you're ready – on your marks." 

"Get set..." 

"BAAAAAAAKE."

***** 

Alana and Will perused the tent. It was the last chance the bakers would have to impress before one was eliminated, and the remaining three could compete for the Bake Off crown. First up on their tour of the tent was Bedelia. 

The blonde woman was drinking (what the judges assumed was) apple juice from a wine glass. She had been shot down yet again by the higher-ups on the show at her request to be allowed to bake whilst drinking wine, but evidently that didn’t seem to stop her much. The editors had apparently just given up, and were editing around the shots of the glass. Will applauded them in his head. 

"Bedelia! What treats do you have in store today for gluten-free biscuit treats?" Alana asked, enthusiastically. 

"I will be making a coffee-flavoured mini meringue, which is simple yet elegant." She turned on the food processor at a high speed, mixing the egg whites and cream of tartar. "It's not very technically challenging but they taste great, and it's one of the few snacks I like without chocolate." 

Francis was carefully stirring a bowl of gluten-free oats, tahini, honey and cinnamon. 

Will's curiosity was piqued. "What is that?" 

"Tahini," he answered, curtly. 

"You're putting it in biscuits? Interesting." 

Will had hoped that that would inspire further communication, but it would appear not to be the case. Alana dipped her finger in the tahini, honey and cinnamon mix, licked it, and smiled. 

Continuing on to the next bench, the judges were greeted to the smell of coconut and almonds, which Jack was gently folding into a mix of stiff egg whites. It was beginning to produce a sort of sticky dough texture, and made an...  _Interesting_ sound as he mixed the ingredients together. 

"Wow, those look fabulous." 

"And they smell great, too." 

Jack explained that he had a secret sweet spot for desiccated coconut, and always had to put extra in the recipe to make up for the spoonfuls he would conveniently misplace in his mouth. 

"Last but not least, Hannibal. What are you making today?"

"Gluten-free cornflour makes for a nice addition to this recipe I picked up in my student days, traveling to Brazil. I fell in love with their  _sequilhos_." 

"Admittedly, I haven't tried many Brazilian biscuits," Will mused. "What sort of biscuit are we expecting?" 

Hannibal thought for a moment, putting the bowl down on the bench. His hands were covered in sticky dough. "I guess the best comparison is something similar to peppermint creams, like a sort of shortbread biscuit." 

*****

"Alright, folks, time is  _up_ on your signature bakes! Let's see what joyous treats you have provided for us today! Bedelia, you want to bring yours up first?"

Bringing her meringues to the altar, Bedelia placed the slate plate down on the tablecloth. 

"Those look... Very cute," said Will, picking one up. They were petite, and graciously coated in a sprinkle of cocoa powder to add some extra flavour. 

"I just felt like they didn't have enough flavour, so I went ahead and added the cocoa." 

Alana bit one in half, inspecting the insides. "Looks good to me." 

Hannibal presented his  _sequilhos_ , and both judges were suitably impressed. Jack's coconut and almond macaroons were pleasant, if not a little overpowering from excess vanilla essence. 

Francis placed his tahini biscuits in front of the judges. Alana thought they were an interesting idea, while Will was less keen. Price and Zeller jumped in to offer their 'professional' opinions, and declared that they were both edible and rather pleasant. 

The cameras shut down, and the tent slowly emptied as bakers, judges and crew took a well-deserved break. 

*****

"Normally when it comes to the technical challenges, Alana and Will like to be a little mean and give you a recipe for a bake you've never heard of before, consisting of one page of instructions that usually amount to 'Step 1 – bake cake. Step 2 – present cake to judges.'" The contestants laughed awkwardly. "But this week, they wanted to give you a free-from-stress challenge." 

"In theory." 

"Yes, in theory. So they gave you a challenge, and you all chose a recipe for a sugar-free cake." 

"No strings attached, no sugar involved. Just a nice, simple, cake." 

"It's up to you what you replace the sugar with, but it better be good. You have one hour on the clock, bakers. On your marks." 

"Get set." 

"….....BAKE!" 

*****

The four remaining bakers brought their cakes to the table. They each placed their creations behind a photo of themselves, however, the judges would not be able to tell which cake belonged to whom. Each baker had chosen a different recipe, but they would be held to the same standards as each other – in other words, if one bake was spectacular, the rest would be sweating under the collar a little. 

Alana and Will sampled the banana bread first. 

"The cinnamon is really coming through, and it's absolutely delightful with the banana. There's something else in there, too, I think, maybe... Nutmeg?" 

Alana bent down to sniff the loaf. "I think you might be right." 

The sponge cake was passable, and the chocolate cake slightly moreso, but both judges were disappointed. It was the semi-final, and this was the standard being produced? 

Ranking the bakes in order of last to first, the judges gave Jack fourth, Francis third, Bedelia second and Hannibal first place. Alana congratulated Hannibal on his banana loaf, and offered some of the crew members a slice of Bedelia's blueberry crunch loaf. 

Will turned to the bakers. "Jack, your basic sponge recipe is failing you, and you really need to step up your game. You, too, Francis – that chocolate cake was a little disappointing." 

*****

"This is the last bake that counts. It doesn't matter how well the signature bake went, and it doesn't matter if you managed to conquer the technical." 

"It could all go pear-shaped – and I'm looking at you, Jack," Price pointed to the man, who had a handful of pears sitting on his bench, "So be careful." 

"This is your last chance to prove yourself as a finalist for the Great British Bake Off." 

"Alana and Will would like you to make an ice cream roll. But, what with the theme of this week being Free From, we figured – where was the fun in that? Take the most central part of the bake, the ice cream, and remove the dairy." 

"Easy, right? Oh, and you've only got two hours to do it." 

"Ready, bakers. On your marks, get set." 

"Bake." 

Alana waltzed over to Francis, making his way through tins of coconut cream and setting up his ice cream in a bowl. 

"Raspberry and coconut? Nice choice." 

"Thanks." The gruff man glanced up at the judge, showing a brief hint of a soft smile. Will looked over from the other side of the tent, catching a glimpse of it above the rims of his glasses. Thinking to himself, the judge realised he was the only one of the pair who ever seemed to get the blunt end of the stick. He absentmindedly wondered why that was. 

Will turned around to find himself near the bench Jack was working astutely behind. He was melting dairy-free chocolate in a bowl on the hob whilst boiling some cream. 

"Ganache first, then?" 

"Yep. Gotta cool it in the fridge so I can pour it later at the right temperament." 

"So how are you planning on bringing out the flavours of the pear, without letting it be overshadowed by the strength of the chocolate?" 

Jack pulled a small bottle from beside the pears. "I've got some conference pears to add, for freshness, and some pear-flavoured liqueur to add a bit of punch." 

Will looked impressed. 

"You've definitely come a long way since the start of this competition, Jack." 

Bedelia was standing over a bowl of whisked egg whites, adding sugar in tablespoon at a time. 

"You're sticking with a theme this week then?" Alana asked. "More meringue?" 

"It worked out fine in the signature challenge, so I don't see why it should fail me now." The blonde woman shrugged. "Besides, it's hard to make a decent sponge without butter; I hate the way soy butter tastes." 

Will nodded his agreement. "So what sort of flavours are you planning to wow us with?" 

"I decided that, since the weather is showing us the beginnings of summer, I would join in. I'm making a mango and passion fruit pavlova roulade." She looked out the window of the tent, sighing. "If I have to replace all of my cream with coconut milk, then the least I can do is make a fruity cocktail." 

Alana wandered over to the final pitstop of the morning, while Will hung around Bedelia's bench. She got the sense something was bothering Will but decided not to press the subject right now. There was a time and a place. 

Hannibal sat gracefully, poised in front of a melting pot of strawberries and half a lime, as he heated them to produce a fresh jam. He had a cold plate sitting next to the hob, daubed with spatterings of the red liquid. 

"Checking for wrinkles?" 

"I am indeed. I think the jam is almost ready, and I just need to let it cool." 

"Will you be smoothing out the chunks with a blender, or are you just going to leave it like that?"

The baker paused for a moment before replying. "I haven't actually decided yet. Normally I blend it, but sometimes it's nice to have a bit of substance when you bite." 

"You know you only have two hours, correct? Is your ice cream going to set in time?" 

"It's already in the freezer chilling." 

Alana walked away, quietly impressed. 

*****

Jack brought his chocolate pear  _Bûche_ _de Noël_ to the fore, complete with small meringue pears to decorate the plate. Will was taken aback by the presentation. 

"You know, if somebody had shown me this after week one and told me that it was made by you, Jack, I wouldn't have believed it." Jack looked confused. "You went from the most basic recipes to something like this. It's impressive." 

The policeman's lips twitched into what could almost have been a grimace. It wasn't quite a smile but Will could appreciate the effort. He added, quietly, "Even if you  _did_ make a sponge cake in the technical challenge..."

Hannibal presented his chocolate, strawberry lime ice cream roll to the judges. There was a delicate, pink paisley pattern piped into the sponge. 

"Wow, the presentation is truly remarkable. Tell us about your bake." 

"You wanted dairy-free, so I used coconut cream, agave nectar, and dairy-free soy spread butter to make the majority of the dessert." Hannibal crossed his arms. "The chocolate is also dairy-free." 

"That's an impressive feat." 

"I just hope it is to your liking." 

The judges sliced into the sponge, the log cutting smoothly and the ice cream holding in place. 

"Not too much melting around the edges which is good, you left time for the sponge to cool before adding the ice cream which is always good," Will said. 

Bedelia brought her roulade to the gingham altar, placing it gently on the table. One side wobbled precariously as she set it down. 

"That, uhh, doesn't look quite set yet." 

"Yeah, I just cut it a little fine." 

"Well, let's see how it tastes." Will cut the log in half and dug in at the middle, while Alana tasted one of the slices at the end. 

"Pretty nice. The mango overpowers the passion fruit a little, but other than that, it's just a shame it's not fully set." 

"Definitely something I would provide for a nice afternoon picnic, though," Alana added. "It's light and tastes like summer." 

Bedelia walked her pudding back to her bench, grateful that it didn't have to look presentable anymore. The meringue started to collapse due to the soggy filling. 

"Francis, your turn." 

The tall man placed his ice cream cake on the table. Will took a moment to look at the man's face – his lip was permanently turned up in a slight scowl, a small scar pulling at the skin. Will hadn't noticed before. No wonder the man always looked unhappy. 

The judges dug in to the cake, relatively satisfied with the contents. "The raspberries complement the coconut wonderfully," Will muttered, his mouth full. "I feel like it could do with a little more cake and a little less ice cream, though." 

"It would be a shame for those who need dairy-free diets if they disliked the taste of coconut, it seems..." Alana smirked. "I'm just glad I don't need to shy away from the lactose!" 

*****

"This week, the pleasure of announcing to you all our final Star Baker falls in my sticky, chocolate-covered hands." Zeller folded his arms in front of himself. "It's a hard choice, considering how well we've all come to know you, and for one of you this will be your last day in the tent." 

He looked at the anxious faces in the tent, and continued. "So without further ado, I suppose it's about time to let one of you breathe a sigh of relief. No need for the usual preamble: this week's Star Baker is.... Hannibal!" 

Will could see the tension rise in the bakers. Hannibal was in the clear, but the others were treading water, unsure how long they had left. It wasn't a fun atmosphere to witness, and the nerves settled in Will's bones. As the weeks went by, it became harder and harder to pick himself out of that hole. The joy of those who made it through to the next week was masked by the dread from a singular baker, falling at the last hurdle. 

Jimmy Price stood beside Will, clearing his throat. "You know how much we hate to see one of you leave each week, but it becomes especially difficult in the semi-final. One of you today has risen through the ranks, week by week, only to be pipped at the last step. I'm sorry we can't take you all through to next week." 

Alana scratched her neck, looking away from the group. 

"I'm sorry to say, that the baker not coming with us to the Grand Final is... Francis." Jimmy walked forward to give him a consolatory handshake. 

As he approached the man, Francis stood up and knocked his stool to the floor with a loud crash. His breathing got heavier, and his muscle mass appeared to visibly increase. 

The bakers all jumped up with a start, backing away from the man. 

Will froze, watching the scene unfold before him. The hulking mass of the baker hit him like an ice cold wave, as he recognised the figure stalking towards him. 

It was him. 

He was the one from outside the hotel. 

The man with the rolling pin. 

"But why?" Will whispered, more to himself than to the raging baker before him. It didn't look like he would be getting an answer any time soon, Francis looked irate beyond words. He grabbed the nearest thing to him – one of the stools that had been knocked over – and charged towards Will. 

He was yelling inconsolably, salivating heavily. Two of the camera crew rushed out from behind their rigs, trying to grapple with the man and hold him back, but to no avail. 

Even stalwart Jack stood stock still, mouth agape. 

This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. 

As if suddenly clearing a tunnel, the noise of the situation filled Will's ears for what felt like the first time, and the commotion was enough to jolt him back to his senses. He jumped backwards and out of the way, narrowly missing Francis as he lunged forward. 

He wasn't safe for long, as Francis turned on his heel and caught Will by the back of the neck. He lifted him up and grasped at Will's hip, hoisting him higher, before tossing him across the tent. 

Will skidded to a halt at one of the benches, winding himself and knocking his head against the wooden panels. His teeth clattered shut, and stars clouded his vision. 

The stunned judge could vaguely make out the movement of the people left in the tent. It was like watching some sort of theatre performance with all the sound muffled. Jack tried to help the crew restrain Francis, before being knocked away as the man fled the tent. Bedelia and Alana stood by Price and Zeller, hands at their faces, standing behind a bench that provided a barrier between them and the conflict. 

Hannibal was walking towards Will, extending a hand. 

He was talking. 

Saying... Something. 

The words just didn't reach Will's ears.  _Couldn't_  reach them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are two poems that hold a special place in my heart - stopping by the woods on a snowy evening, and do not stand at my grave and weep 
> 
> one more chapter and im determined to finish it before i start back at uni so watch this space
> 
> EDIT: forgot to include the recipe list so here it is http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/169264908198/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-7


	8. Week 8: The Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last week of bake off - what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, long time no see. I thought I would have more free time this semester but evidently not… I’ve been in a lab 9-7 five days a week. Channel 4’s bake off has been and gone and I loved them all, and there was even a Christmas episode that I haven’t watched yet because who even has time but I’m back with my final chapter. 
> 
> Writing this has been an experience and reading it back has made me laugh a lot more than it probably should… I also still hadn’t decided (seven chapters in) whether this story was fun or serious so

It had been almost a full week since the incident with Francis in the bake off tent. Will had been sent to the hospital (again) and was sent home. Miriam was still insisting that he stay in the hotel, for his own protection, and Will tried to object. Francis had already attacked him there, so it would be easy enough to do so again.

She had insisted on a heavier police protection, and providing he stayed within eyesight of at least one crewmember he would be fine – the hotel had agreed to post a doorman, only allowing those with hotel keys to enter the building.

As Will fell asleep the night before the final bakes, he tossed and turned. It wasn’t going to be a restful sleep. He was stressed, tired, and fed up.

What had he done to earn the ire of a man he had never met before this season started?

Two more days and he would be able to take a holiday somewhere, away from the cameras and the public, and spend some time with his dogs.

*****

“For your last signature bake, Alana and Will would like you to bake something delicate and light.”

Brian stepped forward. “We would like to see 24 perfectly laminated _viennoiseries_ , however! That’s only half the challenge.”

“Yes,” Jimmy chimed in, “you also have to make two different flavours. So we want 24 in total, 12 of each flavour, as perfectly identical as possible.”

“You have a reasonable amount of time for this challenge as there will likely be numerous proving stages. Without further ado, if there are no questions… On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“BAAAAAAAAKE.”

*****

“Hannibal, tell us about your bakes today.” Will and Alana both stepped up to his bench, at the front of the tent. The last set of challenges always had the bakers on edge, and so the judges had agreed to interfere in the first half an hour or so before getting out of the way and letting the bakers have their space.

“My two flavours should be simple yet elegant, which is what I aim for in most of my bakes. I like finding flavour combinations that, on their own, are great – but together they make something more decadent.”

Alana pouted. “You’re looking for the Sonny and Cher version of ingredients?”

“…I guess?” Hannibal looked confused. “Anyway, my plan is to make one lot of _viennoiseries_ with raspberry and milk chocolate, and the other batch as a sort of _pain au chocolat_ with raisins.”

Will bobbed his head in agreement. “Well, good luck. This is your last chance to impress.” The judges moved past the doctor’s bench and onwards to see Jack.

“Jack, this is your final dance, are you going to wow us with flavours?”

The policeman looked down at the ingredients spread across his bench. “Uhh. You might be a little disappointed.” Jack pulled out some pears and bars of white chocolate. “Laminated pastries are not really my strong suit, so I’m going for comfortable flavours rather than something unique.”

Will shook his head. “Better safe than sorry, I guess.”

“Something like that,” Jack nodded. “One batch will have pear in it, and the other is white chocolate. Too much flavour overpowers the pastry and I prefer to eat more than less, so…”

Finally, the judges moved to Bedelia. “Do you have something exciting planned for this bake, Bedelia?”

The blonde woman was making brief scribbles in pencil on the recipe sheet she had brought with her with the timings written on it. She had noted her start time at the top, and was measuring out some ingredients.

“Depends on your ideas of excitement, I suppose.” Alana smiled. “I absolutely love French _patisseries,_ and my all time favourite flavours for them are chocolate and ginger. The second batch was slightly harder to decide on, so I ended up with pear and dark chocolate.”

“Interesting – some friendly competition between you and Jack, then? He plans to make pear and white chocolate batches.” Will tried to dig in his heels, aiming to get a rise out of the woman. Stir the pot a little.

Bedelia didn’t take the bait. “I tried the flavours separate, but in the end I decided by themselves they were just a little too _plain_ for my tastes.”

Alana smirked.

*****

“You have 5 minutes left, bakers, on your final signature baking challenge! 5 minutes!! Get plating those pastries!”

*****

“Jack, bring your pastries to the hungry.”

The policeman strode forward with 24 neatly placed _viennoiseries_ on slate plates. On the most part, they looked similar – you couldn’t really tell the difference between the pear pastries and the white chocolate ones due to the fine baking.

“Ooh, these look almost perfect. Which ones are which?”

Jack pointed to the left plate, explaining that they were the pear-flavoured pastries. Will and Alana scoffed a good mouthful of each type, before Zeller and Price jumped in behind them.

Will spoke first. “Not bad. The pastry is flaking and you can see really defined layers. You’ve definitely improved from the first time we met you, Jack.”

“I’m not sure if going with the sole flavours was a good choice or not; it might have been better to double them up and just give them that little bit more oomph?” Alana put her fork back down on the altar. “Don’t get me wrong, the flavour is pleasant and the bake is good. I just think you could have done _more_.”

Bedelia was up next, and she brought two plates of pastries to the table. The chocolate and ginger pastries were set to one side, and the chocolate and pear ones set to the other. One or two of the pastries looked like they had caught in the oven a little, the edges slightly darker brown than some of the others. The judges hacked into one at random.

“Those chocolate and ginger pastries remind me of Christmas – they’re wonderful. It’s such a good flavour combination, and together in the pastry it really works well,” Will said, mouth full. “It’s just a shame that a few of them are slightly more well-done than others.”

Alana nodded, humming in agreement. “The chocolate and pear ones, too, are nice. One or two of them look a little wobbly but overall you have a good pattern and they look mostly identical.”

Hannibal brought his stacked pastries in two small woven baskets to the gingham table. He placed them gently in front of the judges. Both baskets had pastries filled with speckles of milk chocolate running through them; one also had smatterings of red raspberries while the other was spotted with raisins.

The judges tucked into the _pain au chocolat_ pastries with raisins, hummed with satisfaction, and moved on to the chocolate and raspberry _viennoiseries_.

“These are pretty nice pastries. You’ve got good lamination, the pastry is a really rich golden colour – well done, Hannibal.”

“Thank you very much, Will.”

Alana joined in. “These chocolate raisin pastries are delicious!”

*****

“As today is mostly a day of lasts, we’re going to introduce you all to perhaps a new kind of cake.”

“Isn’t that nice? A technical challenge, making a brand new cake that you have probably never heard of?” The bakers all sighed in unison.

“Your last signature challenge was a little bit French, so to balance it up a little your last technical challenge is going to be a little bit German.”

“Only a little bit, because technically it’s Austrian.”

“Will and Alana would like you to make a _Sachertorte_.”

“That’s all there is to it – you guys have been doing this for a while now so I don’t really have anything left to explain to you other than… On your marks…”

“Get set.”

“Bake.”

*****

“Place your _Sachertortes_ behind the photos of yourselves on the gingham altar, please.” The bakers did as told, and then moved back to sit in the stools that were now gathered in the centre of the tent. The judges were herded back in by Price and Zeller.

Alana and Will perused the bakes before them. The three cakes looked similar to each other, at least, but with varying levels of neatness. One had the word “ _Sacher_ ” written in dark chocolate icing, while the other two were milk. The judges cut into the cakes, checking the thickness of the layer of apricot jam beneath the icing.

“This one has a very fine amount of jam; I would’ve wanted a little more to counteract the rich chocolate flavours.”

“These two are neater, certainly, but the layering on this one is a little uneven.”

Will tested each one, slowly, discussing with Alana as he went. Within a few short minutes they had decided on the running order.

“OK, in third place we have this cake.” Hannibal raised his hand. “It was a little uneven and you used dark chocolate to pipe the word – should’ve been milk chocolate.”

“Second place is this one,” Jack nodded his head, “A better layering but still a little uneven, I can tell you cut off part of the mound of cake you baked and it’s not quite flat, and it could’ve done with a little more jam.” Will picked up his fork and ran it along the middle of the cake, indicating the thin layer.

“And lastly, first place in the technical challenge goes to… Bedelia.”

“Well done, Bedelia. That is a first-rate _Sachertorte_.”

*****

“We’re slowly approaching the end of our time here in the bake off tent.”

“It’s been a blast, we’ve made some new friends, and eaten some good food.”

“However! You guys have worked hard and now there can only be one winner.”

“This is your last chance to prove to us what you’re made of, and bake the best cake of your life.”

“Will and Alana would like you, for your last showstopper in this tent, to present us with a special cake.”

“Simple as it sounds, all we would like from you is a cake in celebration of something. Something with layers.”

“It might be a wedding cake?”

“A birthday cake?”

“Anniversary cake?”

“A cake dedicated to the relationship you have with Jimmy and I?” The bakers chuckled softly.

“Whatever you choose, we want it to be astounding and fantastic.”

“And have layers.”

“You have 4 hours on the clock, so, for the last time – on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“BAKE.”

There was a loud clattering in the tent as the bakers readied themselves, pulling out pots and pans and baking trays. Alana poured herself a coffee and handed a second to Will. The first few minutes of this challenge was always a bit of a hurried frenzy, so they sat at the side until the bakers were comfortably started on their bakes.

“Last one, eh?” Alana sighed. “Probably for the best.”

Will murmured something in agreement. He took a sip of the coffee, and added, “Here’s hoping we go out in a blaze of glory or something then. Let’s make it a good one.”

Alana walked over to Bedelia’s bench.

“What is your cake a celebration of today, Bedelia?”

The blonde woman put the spoon she was holding back into the mixing bowl. “When I graduated medical school, I had already started my first rotations, so I never went to my graduation. I thought now might be as good a time as any to celebrate that.”

Alana nodded, looking at the ingredients. “And what sort of cake are you making?”

“When I was studying, I discovered a rather unusual flavour. My flatmate brought home some chili chocolate one day as a study snack, and to my surprise it made for a nice cake.”

“Sweet chocolate with a kick of spice? Count me in.”

Will stalked his way across to Hannibal, who was busying himself weighing flour into a mixing bowl. Looking to the end of the bench, the judge saw a large jar containing….

“…Is that blood?”

Hannibal looked up from the scales. “Yes,” he replied, curtly.

“Dare I even ask..?”

“When I was younger my family used to holiday in the south of Italy, where we came across the wonders of the _sanguinaccio dolce._ ” The baker shrugged, like standing in a kitchen with a litre of blood was normal. “It’s a recipe that requires fresh blood, as direct from the pig as can be managed, so is often difficult to get your hands on.”

“Does it not taste… Metallic?”

“A little. But the sugar from the white chocolate and the spice of the star anise should balance it out almost perfectly.”

“How many times have you practised this recipe this week? That must’ve been a lot of dead pigs…”

Hannibal smirked. “The ethical butcher, once again.”

Will squinted at the baker. “Right. Well. What are you celebrating?”

The doctor turned morose. “I thought perhaps this would be a good opportunity to celebrate those who are no longer with us. This one is for Beverley, and Anthony.”

That floored Will, a little bit. He nodded, standing silently.

Alana walked past him and grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him along to the last bench in the tent.

“Hey, Jack. Last chance to wow us – what’s it going to be?”

“I decided to remake my wedding cake. French vanilla and apricot.” He looked off into the distance, eyes glazing over. “My wife and I couldn’t decide on a flavour, so we compromised; she loved apricots and I, vanilla.”

“That’s so sweet, Jack.”

“I’m sure she would be proud of you.”

*****

The bakers sat nervously behind their tiered cakes. Will and Alana stepped behind the gingham altar, and Price beckoned the first contestant forward.

Jack walked to the altar, with his three tier French vanilla and apricot cake. Will separated the tiers, sitting them side by side, so Alana could cut into them. They had been supported by bubble tea straws, which neatly poked out of the bottom two layers.

“So it’s a French vanilla cake with apricot jam filling and apricot icing. There are also apricots in the mixture of the bottom and top layers.”

Will sliced into the smallest layer, spearing an apricot with his fork. “Hmm… Not bad. The thing about apricots is that they’re quite wet, and so some of the cake surrounding them is just shy of being perfectly baked.” He prodded at the base layer. “Yeah, see, this one is much more solid. This is cooked to perfection, but the smallest layer needed another 5 minutes or so in the oven.”

Alana chimed in. “That being said, you’ve made a fantastic wedding cake here. The apricot icing is a very classy off-white, a nice pale peach, which keeps the class of the occasion. I also love the orange ribbons wrapped around each layer. It’s the sort of simple cake that stands on its own and doesn’t need to look overly crowded.”

“Your wife would be proud, Jack.”

The baker bowed slightly, his eyes watering. They piled his cakes back on top of each other and he lifted the large structure back to his bench.

“Hannibal, you’re up next.”

Like Jack, Hannibal had also made a three-tier cake. It was a perfectly white cake with smooth domes of icing, and down one side trailed a thick, gelatinous sauce. It dripped down all three tiers, like the baker had poured a very smooth layer of paint down one side of it.

“So, Hannibal, explain to me what I’m looking at.”

“This is a white chocolate and star anise cake, with a blood chocolate sauce.”

Alana’s eyes bugged out.

“ _Blood_ chocolate?” She looked at Will, questioningly.

“Yes.”

“Hey, I already asked, and I’m just as confused as I was before.”

The judges pulled out the fish slice and gently separated the layers.

“Are each of the layers the same mix?”

“Yes, I decided it was too rich to use different flavours for each layer.”

The judges mulled this over while they cut into each sponge. They tasted the biggest layer, the middle layer, and then the smallest. When they reached the blood chocolate sauce, both judges looked puzzled.

“I mean,” Alana started, “It’s really confusing, that sauce.”

Will nodded, adding “I definitely agree. I’m not sure what my opinion is on that, yet.”

Lastly, Bedelia brought her tiered cake to the altar. It was three layers, once again, however, they had been baked as squares instead. The bottommost layer was decorated with a rich, dark chocolate icing. In the middle appeared to be a milk chocolate icing, and the top boasted a reddish-brown icing.

“Chili chocolate, huh?” Will asked.

“Indeed. It was a particular favourite of mine in my younger years, the contrast of bitter dark chocolate and nippy chili.” She pointed to the top layer, explaining that the red colouring was just for decoration and it was in fact a white chocolate icing. “There’s a slightly different ratio of chocolate to chili in each layer, so the bottom layer is mostly chocolate while the smallest layer has a bit more of a kick to it.”

“I’m always afraid to eat something when I’m told it has a bit of a kick,” Will admitted, laughing. “But let’s give it a go.”

Sampling each layer, Will and Alana were both impressed.

“The bottom is rich but you get that small hit of spice in it, and as you go through the layers there’s definitely a stronger taste of the chili.”

“I was worried the top layer would be too much, but at least it’s small so you can get away with having a small slice and still be fine.” Will grabbed his coffee mug. “I’m afraid if I ate too much of this I might have to down a gallon of milk, though.”

Bedelia thanked the judges and moved back to her bench.

Brian and Jimmy walked back into view of the cameras, standing to the left of the judges.

“As you know, you’ve now done all that is in your powers to prove to the judges your talents.”

“That’s right, all that’s left is for the judges to discuss the bakes from today and determine a winner.”

“Obviously, this is not the end of the road for you all, and I hope you’ve had a (mostly) pleasant experience, making friends along the way.”

“And if any of you want to send me a cake every now and again, I will give you my address offscreen.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, that’s it for the finalists of the Great British Bake Off!!”

*****

The grassy field outside the tent was slowly filling with people. Family and friends of contestants and crew were all invited, populating the space and having picnics in the light of the summer afternoon. The bakers had brought out slices of all the bakes of the weekend, offering pieces to everyone. Margot and Abigail were laughing over a hamper, while Bedelia and Hannibal spoke to Matthew. There was no sign of Francis, and that settled Will’s stomach a little.

There had been no sign of the man since he had escaped the tent the previous week. The police alert had been reduced, thinking that after a week and no sign, the man had most likely fled the country. After all, he had known the hotel that Will was staying in – had even attacked him there previously – but no amount of surveillance had produced any leads. There were still a few policemen standing on guard in the field; one or two at the edges of the crowd, keeping an eye out. Not nearly as many as Will would’ve liked.

The camera crew moved their rigs, after getting a good number of sweeping shots of the crowd, to just in front of the tent. An assistant stood in front of the masses, letting everybody know that the results of the contest would be announced shortly.

Alana, Will, Price and Zeller walked to the tent, in front of all the cameras.

“Could I ask all of the finalists to come down, please?” Jimmy shouted into the crowd.

Bedelia, Hannibal and Jack all walked away from their respective conversations, still dressed in their baking aprons. The three contestants made their way through the throng of people. Will’s hands were twitching, so he moved them behind his back. Large groups of people staring at him was never comfortable.

Alana cleared her throat, before addressing the bakers. “It’s been a difficult few months for us here in our bake off family. We’ve had a lot more loss than one would expect.” There was a solemn silence while the bakers remembered Beverley and Anthony. “But we’ve also been privileged to make new friends and see the wonderful bakes that our contestants have produced.”

There was a brief round of applause for the contestants.

As the applause began to die down, there was a commotion behind one corner of the tent. The judges heard yelling and growling, as a policeman was thrown into one of the corner support beams holding up the tent.

In the ensuing chaos, the entire population of the field went silent. When Will finally could see beyond the billowing tent flap, his jaw dropped.

Francis, standing in an old white T-shirt and dark jeans, was glaring at Will.

Stalking towards him.

Holding a knife.

Alana was the first to sound the alarm. “EVERYBODY, RUN.”

There was a rush of movement as the family, friends, and bakers ran across the far end of the field to reach the road where they had all parked their cars. They completely avoided the white tent, taking the long route to escape the madman with a weapon.

Will was stuck. His fear left him standing still, as Francis slowly made his way towards the judge. Trying to bring himself back to his senses, he looked to his immediate surroundings for something to use to defend himself.

To his right, Jack was doing exactly the same thing. His eyes were scanning the ground outside the tent, resting on nothing useful. Bedelia had run away with Alana, joining the crowd of confused bystanders.

Looking back towards Francis, Hannibal was suddenly in Will’s vision – grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him towards the entrance of the tent.

From inside, they could hear Jack shouting to Francis to stop, followed by a loud grunt as both men hit the floor.

Will looked around him, remembering that all the other exits to the tent had been secured to prevent the wind screwing up any of the baking. The only exit was the open door they had just walked through – the very entrance that Francis was now standing in.

“There’s no way around him.” Will turned to Hannibal.

They ran across the open room, ducking behind one of the contestant benches near the back of the tent.

“Then we fight.”

Hannibal reached up to the bench and grabbed a knife.

Will let out a laugh of disbelief. “Freddy Lounds, eat your heart out.” He sighed and crawled over to a bench at the back of the tent, finding a larger knife in one of the drawers. “I told you it wasn’t smart to piss me off.”

Francis, also wielding a knife, stood at the front of the tent. The only thing standing between them were the few benches strewn about the tent.

Gripping the knife more intently, Francis charged forward. Hannibal rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, before standing up and bracing himself.

He blocked an overhead attack with his forearm, knocking Francis off balance and shoving him to the side. Hannibal flipped the knife in his hand in the air, changing his grip. It wasn’t a long knife, but it was thin and razor-sharp. He stabbed forward, slicing a cut in Francis’s arm.

Will saw the blood drip. The adrenaline coursed through him, his own blood pumping in his ears. He ducked out from the side of the bench he was hidden behind, and knocked Francis over with a tackle to his knees. There was a loud clatter as the two men hit some pans that had been thrown to the side of the tent.

Trying to pull himself back up, all Will could feel was the carpet. Francis had regained his balance faster, and had hit him with a closed fist to the side of the head as he scrambled with the other hand to pick his knife back up off the ground.

Will rolled across the floor, trying to escape the flurries of knife slashes that were coming in his direction. He felt sharp, stabbing pains in his thighs, his arms, as he tried to escape.

Hannibal jumped back into the fray, getting small nicks in here and there as Francis swayed unsteadily on his feet. One choice blow and Francis was knocked down in the middle of the tent carpet.

The punches flew and the knives rained down with them, as the two men stood in front of Francis. Will could feel blood in his mouth, but he couldn’t work out if it was from a shallow cut at his temple or from a nosebleed. His sight was tinged with red, and there were splatters all over the ground surrounding the scuffle.

As he slammed his knife forward into Francis’s side, he screamed, “This is for Beverley!!” He pulled it out again, stabbing the beaten man in the thigh and twisting the hilt. “And this is for Anthony!”

The bile rose in his stomach as Will continued to punch the man, wailing on him with blow after blow. He began to tire, shoulders heaving from exhaustion and rage. He took a staggered step back, wiping the sweat away from his forehead, and sunk to his knees. The room was spinning.

“N-not… not me…” Francis huffed, through ragged breaths. “Not… th-them…” There was a rattling in his voice, as the blood began to pool in his lungs.

“What?” Will asked.

But he did not get a reply.

Hannibal jumped in between the men, stabbing Francis right in the heart. He pulled the knife out quickly, sliding it across the man’s throat, before plunging it back into his chest.

“Hannibal..?”

The baker, who had been crouched, slowly stood up. He brushed down his sleeves, wiping his hands on his apron before smoothing his hair back, out of his eyes. Speckles of blood were pulled through the sandy brown strands. “He was one of your bigger fans, you know.” Hannibal said, catching his breath.

“What?”

Hannibal swallowed, still panting. “I spoke to Francis, once, after one of the challenges.” He stepped towards the judge. “He told me, ‘you’re not the only monster in the tent,’” Hannibal chuckled, “and then we shared a few stories.”

The man turned behind him, looking at the body bleeding out on the floor, muttering under his breath, “What a waste.” He kicked Francis’s motionless foot. “He told me a story that resonated, about enjoying a piece of art so much he felt the need to consume it. He saw something, he loved it, and he ate it.”

Hannibal looked back to Will. “After all, the best way to keep something with you is to keep it in your stomach, no?”

Will was horrified. He was starting to feel dizzy, the number of cuts on his flesh slowly but surely adding up. He thought he might pass out.

Hannibal grabbed the lapels of Will’s jacket, pulling him to his feet. Will grabbed on to Hannibal’s shoulders, shakily, as he tried to find his feet.

Thrusting forward, Hannibal smashed his face against Will’s. The taste of blood remained, as Will felt a tongue licking into his mouth. Knees trembling, Will almost fell back to the floor before Hannibal caught him.

The two men, slippery with blood, stood above the unmoving corpse. They could hear people running past the tent.

Leaning into the touch, Hannibal chewed on Will’s bottom lip. Fresh blood spilled out, as he held the judge closer. “I’m so sorry about all this,” he whispered. “I truly am.”

“Put your hands up and step away from each other!!”

*****

_BBC News, 6:11pm, July 17 th 2017_

_“With the new season of the Great British Bake Off set to air in the middle of August on Channel 4, online viewers have been in uproar over the decision to change channels. Last year, the BBC lost the rights for the format of the show after deciding not to continue to pay the commission fees.”_

_“It has sparked a great debate in the online community, with many suggesting the move will affect viewership and that adding advertising breaks will ruin the flow of the programme.”_

_“Channel 4 has responded to these allegations, stating that, although the channel is changing, the format will remain much the same. The ad breaks will allow the viewers to take well-needed tea breaks, and the TV slot will return to the original timeslot from when the programme initially aired – 8pm, Tuesdays.”_

_“This latest story was brought to the fore after Channel 4 announced the new cast of judges for this season’s run. While many viewers were outraged at the change, we reached out to Alana Bloom.”_

“Alana, what are your thoughts on changing judges this season? With all the furore about moving channels and making changes, why did you decide to leave?”

“Ultimately it was a very difficult decision for me. I’ve been working on this show for a number of years, and I figured that with all of the changes happening this season, it was a good time for me to get a clean break.

“I’ve been reassured by the production team on the new season that it will feel almost exactly the same, just with fresh faces.”

_“The BBC tried to reach out to previous judge for the show, Will Graham, however, he declined the interview. Since the last season aired, Graham has been incarcerated following an altercation that happened in the final episode of the series. He, alongside ex-contestant Dr Hannibal Lecter, await the outcome of their trial at the Old Bailey.”_

_“This has been Freddie Lounds, entertainment correspondent for BBC News.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”  
> \- Maurice Sendak 
> 
> Thank you all for coming on this food journey with me. As always, my tumblr has a list of recipes if you want to look under the tag "proof is in the pudding" (ignore my shitty theme) and here are the bakes from this chapter: http://naeshitsherlock.tumblr.com/post/169266308843/hannibal-gbbo-au-week-8 
> 
> Come talk to me there if you want, I don't bite 
> 
> until the next time, peace out


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